


I Don't

by PhoenixPhoether



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Family, Fluff and Crack, Humor, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1309102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixPhoether/pseuds/PhoenixPhoether
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Weasley and a Malfoy are getting married.  Harry wants a few minutes of peace.  Weddings make a certain blond rather amorous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure this entirely qualifies as PWP. There's kind of a plot, if you squint and tilt your head. It's borderline for crack, though not quite there. It's mostly just a little silly.
> 
> Warnings: Mature (in more ways than one) sex. Epilogue-compliant.

Harry Potter sat at a table under the pavillion, watching the dancers and impatiently tapping his foot. Even at forty-eight, with all his years of maturity, he still didn't particularly enjoy dancing. He had to smile a little at the way Ron elegantly swept around the floor with Hermione in his arms. Unlike Harry, he'd certainly developed grace and skill. It was nice to see that they were still so in love that they had eyes only for one another.

Suffering a small pang, Harry glanced over at Ginny, two tables away. She was laughing and talking with Audrey and Angelina, and she looked far younger than her age. Her deep red hair had softened to a lighter version, and her curves were rounder than in her youth, but she was still beautiful. She looked up and spotted Harry, offering a tiny smile. He returned it.

It was a marvel they could be in the same room together. Their constant bickering had reached fever-pitch, and they'd eventually decided to call it quits the summer before Lily's fourth year at Hogwarts. That was six years ago. The strange thing was that once they weren't living under the same roof, they'd begun to work through what had gone wrong. They'd become friends again, and now here they sat, coexisting more than peacefully at Rose Weasley's wedding. Harry briefly contemplated asking her for a dance before remembering exactly why that would be a bad idea. Squashing her toes whilst awkwardly trying to lead wouldn't do much for their relationship.

Instead, he chose to continue letting his eyes wander the pavillion. His gaze came to rest on another familiar face: Draco Malfoy. That in itself was another odd state of affairs. Until their children were Hogwarts-bound, Harry hadn't had any contact at all with Malfoy. Even afterwards, they saw one another at best a handful of times a year, waiting for the Hogwarts Express to arrive or depart. Their children were another matter.

Rose had taken her father's charge to "beat Scorpius in everything" seriously. Fiercely competitive, she'd worked hard to secure her place as a top student. She was no less brilliant than her mother, of course. Unfortunately, Scorpius Malfoy was equally brilliant. Rose, outgoing and outspoken, made her intentions clear without mincing words—she was out to win. Scorpius was more understated, quiet and introspective. He was also sly, and he had the advantage of being Albus Potter's best friend from the moment they were sorted into Slytherin together. When Rose issued her challenge, Scorpius took it, only with a lot more subtlty. Now, more than ten years later, they were getting married so as to go on outdoing each other properly.

Harry decided that was some sort of weird poetic justice, that a Malfoy and a Weasley were getting married. It was a wonder both Ron and Draco didn't drop over dead on the spot when they found out. Harry had taken it all in stride; there was no escaping the blending of their families. He rather liked Scorpius, and besides, he'd been through the shock once already. James' wife, Hyacinth, was Scorpius' cousin on his mother's side.

In the previous two years, Harry had attended numerous weddings as the children of his classmates reached adulthood. Simply because the wizarding world wasn't particularly large, he and Malfoy had attended quite a lot of the same affairs. Their friends' children intermarried, unhindered by the prejudices of the past, largely influenced by their parents' desire not to repeat the previous generation's mistakes. Harry and Malfoy had gone from occasional terse acknowledgements to being in the same room for extended periods of time on a repeating basis.

The most uncomfortable one had been James and Hyacinth's wedding, which was the first of the lot. Malfoy had only been there because his divorce from his wife was recent, and they'd already planned to attend together before separating. For the sake of their niece, they'd apparently agreed to go as a couple. That had been a supremely bad decision, and Harry had ended up wanting to hex the daylights out of both of them. They'd had a public row and stormed off in opposite directions just as the happy couple were about to share their first dance. It was a mess.

After the yelling match, Malfoy had gone to sulk in the toilets. Harry had followed him, intending to have it out with him for making a scene at James' wedding. They'd argued, and Harry had threatened to hex him into the following week. He was prepared to make good on that when Malfoy surprised him by breaking down and sobbing. After that, Harry hadn't quite had the heart to carry through.

Now Harry sat under the pavillion at the Burrow, sipping his drink and marvelling that Draco Malfoy was in the home of the senior Weasleys—and not making snide remarks. He thought the world might stop spinning. Risking another glance, he saw Malfoy glowering at him. Harry scowled in return.

After another few minutes, Harry decided to retreat to the house for a bit of privacy and a stop in the loo. There was a facility set up for the guests, of course, so that Molly and Arthur wouldn't have people traipsing through their house constantly. But Harry was family, and he knew no one would mind. He slipped inside and made his way to the toilet.

He finished and was in the midst of washing his hands when there was a rap on the door. He called out, "I'm in here. Be out in a moment." He shut off the tap and dried his hands.

There was no response, and Harry didn't hear retreating footsteps. Instead, there was the distinct _snick_ of the lock disengaging. Harry pressed himself against the wall. He didn't draw his wand, but it was readily available, and his reflexes were good. He held his breath.

Before he could register what was happening, the other person was inside, and the lock slid back into place. He found himself with an armful of a gorgeous blond, on the receiving end of a heated snog. Once his brain kicked into gear, he returned it enthusiastically.

When they came up for air, Draco said, "Thank Merlin. I've been waiting all night for you to find a way to get us some privacy. I was starting to get quite annoyed with you. This is all your fault. You know how I am at weddings, thanks to you."

Harry chuckled and muttered a quick wandless _Muffliato_ , waving his hand at the door. "I do. And I plan to take full advantage of that."

"Not if I take advantage of you first."

Draco didn't bother with further conversation. He kissed Harry aggressively whilst tugging impatiently at his dress robes, breaking contact only briefly to remove his own. He deposited both sets of robes in the corner and pressed against Harry, grinding their hips together. He was clearly already fully aroused, and after their desperate frotting, Harry was well on his way to the same stage. Draco tried to slide his hands up Harry's formal shirt, but the buttons were too tight. Hastily, Harry unfastened them to give Draco better access. When he'd managed his own, he reached out and flicked open Draco's shirt.

They yanked off the shirts, and Draco half-heartedly aimed for the pile of robes when he tossed them aside. He slipped his hands beneath Harry's undershirt, running his thumbs across Harry's nipples, smirking against Harry's lips when he gasped. Harry tugged on the hem of Draco's undershirt, and they barely managed to stop kissing long enough to finish stripping from the waist up.

Swiftly, Draco span Harry around so he faced the wall and leaned in close, pressing kisses along his jaw and down his neck. He licked and sucked the place just below Harry's ear, causing both of them to moan pleasurably. Simultaneously, he ran his hands down Harry's back and sides, eliciting a shiver. When he reached Harry's belt, he unfastened it and pulled it off then made himself busy fiddling with the flies on Harry's trousers. He gave a breathy cry of triumph when he succeeded in opening them, pushing them down and out of the way. Harry braced his hands on the wall and widened his stance in anticipation.

Draco reached around to grasp Harry's cock. Harry groaned and tilted his head back so it rested on Draco's shoulder. He ground his arse backwards against Draco, and Draco ran his free hand through Harry's hair. Harry stilled the hand that was stroking him and reached back to touch Draco's hip.

"You still have too many clothes," he muttered.

Draco let go of Harry and worked at his flies, undoing the buttons and shoving everything down. They took the opportunity to kick their shoes, trousers and pants aside with the rest of their clothes. Returning to his place behind Harry, Draco pressed against him and rutted against his bare arse. They were both breathless and eager by the time Draco whispered a couple of spells and slid his hand down between Harry's cheeks. He slipped a finger inside, then followed it with a second one. When he began to move, Harry was almost panting.

"Merlin. Just fuck me already, will you?" he ground out.

"Gladly." Draco withdrew his hand and aligned himself, pushing inside.

Harry cried out as he entered, and they set up a rhythm, rocking together. "Touch me," he demanded. Draco reached around to grip him, stroking in concert with their thrusts.

Draco was close; Harry knew well enough by now the signals. He reached back and touched Draco, tugging him closer. Draco's hand moved from Harry's cock to his hip, bracing himself so he could increase his pace. Harry replaced Draco's hand with his own, desperately needing release. It only took another moment before Draco uttered a long, low moan and briefly stilled his motion before thrusting through the aftershocks. The feral sound of Draco's climax sent Harry over the edge, and he came hard against the wall, swallowing a grunt of pleasure.

They moved gently against each other as they calmed down. After a few minutes, Draco slipped free and they cast a few cleaning charms. They sorted through the pile of discarded clothing and began to put themselves back together. Harry looked ruefully at the heap of dress robes, knowing that even anti-wrinkle charms probably wouldn't entirely fix their sorry state. He shrugged and pulled on his trousers. It had been worth it.

Once they were dressed, they attempted to tidy themselves up. It wouldn't do to look freshly shagged when returning to the pavillion. Harry smoothed Draco's hair, and Draco straightened the collar of Harry's dress robes. They exchanged a brief, chaste kiss, and Harry enjoyed the smug smile Draco offered him. Satisfied—in more ways than one—they exited the loo.

On the way back through the kitchen, they were stopped by Lily and Rose. Rose eyed both men and her gaze turned stony. "You've been hexing each other again!" she accused indignantly. "And at my wedding, too. Uncle Harry, you promised!"

"Daddy, how could you?" Lily put in.

Harry and Draco exchanged a glance. They clearly had not put themselves together properly, and the young women had spotted it. Rose was obviously gearing up for a long, loud lecture—she really was her mother's daughter—when several more people appeared in the kitchen.

"Harry, where have you been? We came to find you before they cut the cake," Hermione said. Ron stood mutely behind her, his eyebrows raised as he took in Harry and Draco's dishevelled appearance.

Ginny, Astoria, and Scorpius were in the doorway, their expressions puzzled. Just as Harry was about to make up some lame excuse for why he and Draco looked like they'd been behaving like their thirteen-year-old selves, James showed up.

He took one look at them and said, "Merlin's balls, Dad. Were you and Mr. Malfoy shagging in the loo again? Couldn't you have at least held it in until you got home?"

There was a deathly silence. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco clench his teeth; a muscle in his jaw twitched. For his part, Harry was unable to keep his mouth from dropping open. He didn't spare a thought for why no one else looked particularly upset at what James had said.

Before he could stop himself, Harry squeaked out, "You knew about that?" He immediately covered his mouth with his hand in the vain hope he could stuff the words back in where they belonged.

James rolled his eyes. "It was a little hard to miss when you didn't cast your _Muffliato_ properly at my wedding. I went to have a pee, and I could hear damn near everything. The pair of you were arguing, and I was afraid you'd hexed each other unconscious when it suddenly got quiet. I went in, and apparently, your spell only extended outside the toilets as a whole, not your particular stall."

"Oh, god," Harry said faintly. When he had collected himself, he looked around to see that nearly every face bore an identical look, somewhere between being horrified and amused.

"You can all go back about your business," Draco said firmly. "We'll be there to see them cut the cake in a moment."

"Hang on," Harry said, holding up a hand to stop them leaving. "Why are none of you upset about this?"

"I might be a little upset that you were having sex in the toilet at my daughter's wedding," Hermione admitted. "But I'm neither angry nor surprised at who you were with."

"You're not?" Harry's eyebrows shot up.

Ron clapped him on the back. "You've got to admit, it does make a weird kind of sense. Nearly forty years of being obsessed with each other, it was about time you sorted yourselves." He turned around and walked out with his arm around his wife.

The others followed suit. Lily and Rose linked arms, and Harry heard Lily say, "So, they're, like, together now?" He didn't catch Rose's reply.

When they were alone, Harry turned to Draco nervously. "Er."

"You do have a way with words, Potter." Draco's tone was obnoxious, but he smiled, so that was all right.

Relieved, Harry asked, "So, what do we do now?"

"I'd say our secret's out, so we might as well enjoy it. Let's go watch them cut the cake. Then perhaps you'll finally let me teach you how to dance properly."

Harry leaned up to murmur, "I might if there's something in it for me."

Draco put his mouth against Harry's ear. "Oh, trust me, there will be." He glanced past Harry for a moment before grabbing his arse and pressing a kiss to his lips.

"Then let's go."

Hand in hand, they walked back out to the pavillion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this is my reward for finding out that my real-life novel was accepted by a publisher. I thought it might be fun to see The Incident that started what led up to the first part of this story. If I have enough interest, I may even turn it into a smutty, fluffy series. I mean, who doesn't want to know just why Draco can't make it through a wedding without...er...you know?
> 
> Warnings: Semi-public sex acts; things adult children should never know about their parents

**Thirteen Months Earlier**

James Potter had had just enough to drink to be pleasantly tipsy. He had to admit, he was enjoying his own wedding reception more than he'd anticipated. A glance over at his bride told him she was feeling much the same way. She was swaying on the dance floor in a ring with her new sister-in-law and their cousin, looking positively radiant. Instead of a traditional wedding gown, Hyacinth had opted for a finely-tailored set of white dress robes. James thought they were perfect on her and that she was quite possibly the most beautiful witch in the world. It wasn't even the champagne talking when it came to how he felt about her.

Shifting his gaze from the three young women, James watched the other people in attendance. For the most part, everyone was relaxed and happy following a beautiful ceremony and an elegant meal. Hyacinth's parents had chosen the venue. This was their only daughter, after all, and they wanted to do things properly. They'd selected a hall that catered to wealthy Wizarding families, tucked away in the countryside and hidden from Muggle eyes with an elaborate set of spells. James had to admit they had better taste than his own parents—particularly his father—would have. He'd have believed it was their wealth, but he knew his parents had money as well. They just opted not to spend their time in the same circles as Hyacinth's family.

Speaking of which, James eyed Hyacinth's aunt and uncle suspiciously. They were the only ones who appeared not to be having a good time. Hyacinth's Aunt Astoria was her mother's younger sister, and she'd had the misfortune to marry into the Malfoy family. James couldn't complain too much about them; Rose was in a fairly serious relationship with their son, and James wouldn't have been surprised if they were next in line to get married. Even so, he was wary of the chilly atmosphere that surrounded Scorpius' parents.

At present, they were seated next to each other, with their chairs angled away from one another. Mrs Malfoy had her arms folded and her legs crossed, waggling one foot impatiently. Mr. Malfoy had his hands on top of the table, fingers laced together, a hard expression on his face. It was obvious they were trying to hold it in for the sake of their niece, but they were not going out of their way to do anything beyond that. James reflected that it was probably as much as they could manage. From what he gathered talking to Scorpius, their divorce was rather recent, so he couldn't blame them.

James wasn't without sympathy for all of them. The whole thing sounded horrible, and he could relate. His own parents had made peace after their divorce, thank Merlin, but it had been bad for a while while they sorted themselves. On the other hand, Harry and Ginny probably wouldn't have sat next to each other at a wedding two months later, scowling into their champagne. James wondered what had possessed the Malfoys to attend together. In any case, he wasn't going to trouble himself thinking about their problems on his own wedding day. It would only put a damper on things.

He returned his attention to the band, which was setting up to replace the wireless they'd had playing during dinner. While they tuned their instruments, he slid out of his seat and went in search of Hyacinth, who was no longer dancing with Lily and Rose. He spotted her talking to her mother and stepped over to join them.

"There you are, darling," Daphne greeted him. "I believe they're ready for the pair of you to share your first dance."

Just as they were about to move to the dance floor, James was distracted by a fuss at one of the tables in the centre of the room. He groaned when he saw that it was Hyacinth's aunt and uncle, arguing. There was no way to tell what had set them off, and it didn't matter anyway. What had probably started as an exchange of snippy comments had escalated into an all-out battle. Hyacinth's parents rushed to separate them, but by the time they reached Mr and Mrs Malfoy, they were standing up and shouting at each other so loudly the rest of the room—except for the tuning musicians, who seemed undisturbed—had fallen silent.

"…because _you_ were fucking the god-damnd gardener!" Mr Malfoy yelled.

"Well, so were _you_!" Mrs Malfoy screamed back.

Even the musicians went quiet; no one moved for several heartbeats.

At last, Mr Malfoy, who had gone quite red in the face, said in a low voice, "And it was a damn sight better than anything I ever got from you."

With that last bit, Mrs Malfoy's mouth dropped open and her hand flew up. She smacked her ex-husband soundly across the face, gathered the skirts of her formal gown, and stormed off in the direction of the kitchens. Mr Malfoy drew himself up to his full height in an attempt to look authoritative and exited the opposite way. When they had both gone, the room remained still for a moment longer before conversation slowly began again.

James relaxed and took Hyacinth's hand. She was trembling, and she looked like she might cry. James was in no mood to have his wife in tears for any reason other than joy. The urge to hex both her aunt and uncle was overwhelming. He put his arms around her and pulled her close while they composed themselves.

Daphne and Ginny approached them. Ginny said, "The band is ready, but I'm not sure whether it's better to go ahead as planned or wait for the tension to pass." She glanced over her shoulder. "I've lost track of your father. He may have gone to see if he could do something."

James was certain he knew what that 'something' was. He understood perfectly well that although Harry and Mr Malfoy were capable of civility, their history was nearly legendary. He said to his mother, "Let's wait until Dad gets back." He didn't add that he thought they ought to see if anyone wound up at St. Mungo's first.

They stood around making polite conversation for a short time. Eventually, James excused himself to use the toilet. When he arrived at the men's loo, it took him by surprise that he could hear voices coming from inside, and they didn't sound friendly. He paused outside the door to listen, but he could only hear a word here and there. He frowned, alarmed to discern that there seemed to be a lot of swearing and what might have been growling.

"Fuck! Malfoy," he heard clearly. That was definitely his father. There was a muffled groan, and then everything went silent but for a faint buzzing.

Panicking, James wondered what his father and Mr Malfoy had done to each other. Heart thumping, he decided to go in after them, knowing he would have to be cautious. They'd most likely hexed each other unconscious, but if they hadn't, he didn't want to be caught in their crossfire. He shook his wand down in his sleeve until it brushed his hand. Unlike Albus, he hadn't followed their father into the Aurors, so his reflexes weren't quite as sharp. But he had the advantage of years of training to work at his Uncle George's shop, which meant he knew just as well how to be sneaky and silent. He pushed the door open slowly.

It took a moment to realise that the buzzing had stopped, which puzzled James until he heard quite a different sound. It was rather…wet? No, that wasn't quite right. He stood there, trying to work out what exactly he was hearing as his ears cleared.

Someone _hummed_. Startled, James peered at the nearest cubicle. He was about to step closer when he heard a breathy, "Oh, gods."

_What the hell?_ he thought. _Are they all right? Did they hurt each other?_

It took less than another ten seconds for it to sink in that they were most definitely _not_ all right, even if they weren't injured. By that time, the sounds they were making had gone from ambiguous someone-might-be-bleeding noises to someone-is-being-thoroughly-snogged noises. Before James could back out of the room, he heard the clink of a belt buckle against the tiles. Glancing down, he noted with horror that one of them had his trousers around his ankles and the other one had dropped to his knees.

James was rooted to the spot, incapable of making himself leave. He didn't particularly want to hear his father giving _or_ receiving a blow-job, especially not with Mr Malfoy. It wasn't that he was particularly bothered that his father might be shagging other men. After all, James had known Al was gay before Al knew it himself. It was more that he didn't care to be privy to the intimate details. He simply did not need a mental image of his father doing anything with anyone. But he was frozen in place, surrounded by the echoing sounds of the pair of them taking pleasure in each other.

He was pushed into action when he heard one of them—he honestly didn't care who at that point—utter a long, low moan. That was enough; he didn't need to be there for the next part. Cringeing at the continuous sex-noises, he crept as silently as he could towards the door. Once he was back outside the toilets, the faint buzzing resumed and he could no longer hear whatever was going on inside. He breathed a sigh of relief.

The pair of them had obviously not set the spell quite right to keep from being overheard. James decided that no one else needed to share in his misfortune, so he conjured a sign for the door that read, 'Closed for Maintenance'. Shuddering, he went in search of an alternate location to have a pee, deciding that when he was finished, they might as well have their dance after all. It was sure to distract anyone from making the same discovery he had, and he figured his father was too busy to care if he missed it.

* * *

Harry stood up, swiping the back of his hand across his lips. He quickly spelled both of them clean, and Malfoy yanked up his pants and trousers. Still panting a little, Malfoy leaned against the wall of the cubicle.

"Merlin, I needed that," he said. "I cannot believe I'm saying this as a compliment, but you have a hell of a mouth on you, Potter."

Harry swatted him. "Arse." He decided to shut Malfoy up by kissing him again. Malfoy returned it enthusiastically, not even complaining that they'd just had their dicks in each other's mouths. It made Harry wish they were still young enough they could have another go before stepping out of the toilets. Alas, his body was no longer quite so responsive.

Several minutes later, Harry stepped back again and leaned against the wall next to Malfoy. He grinned over at him then sobered. "I am sorry about your divorce. It's hell—I know."

"Yeah." Malfoy sighed. "Just as much my fault as hers, but it still hurts." He closed his eyes.

"I know." Harry paused. "Did you really shag the gardener?"

Cracking one eye and turning his head to the side to look at Harry, Malfoy answered, "Yes. And I wasn't lying about it being preferable." He was quiet for a moment before he said, "This was even better." His cheeks reddened.

Momentarily startled by his candidness, Harry shook his head and grinned. "Why, Malfoy, was that another compliment?"

"Don't let it go to your head." He elbowed Harry.

Harry considered things. "We certainly wasted a hell of a lot of time being nasty to each other, didn't we? Merlin. We could have solved all of both our problems if we'd realised we just needed to suck each other off."

For a moment, Malfoy just stared at him before he threw his head back and laughed. Harry joined in, and Malfoy pulled him close again so they leaned against each other. When their laughter faded, they kissed for a bit more, neither of them wanting to stop. It wasn't an option, though.

Harry withdrew, saying, "I think we'd better get back out there. We've likely missed James and Hyacinth's first dance, and I suspect it won't be long before someone comes looking for us." He tilted his head and offered what he hoped was a wicked smirk. "Nothing stopping us from finding our way back here after the cake, though."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure that's wise?"

Leaning up so he could whisper in Malfoy's ear, he said, "Scared…Draco?"

"Y-you wish." He paused. "Harry."

Fairly certain it was the use of his given name and not the challenge he'd issued that made Draco's breath hitch, Harry leaned up to offer several more heated kisses as insurance. "Good. Come find me later."

Reluctantly, they parted and Harry cancelled the spell on the toilets. When they exited, he turned briefly and took note of the 'Closed for Maintenance' sign. _Huh. I don't remember putting that there. Must've done it without thinking—we_ were _a little busy_. Shrugging, Harry followed Draco back into the hall, ready to enjoy the rest of the reception.

* * *

By the time James saw his father and Mr Malfoy again, the first dance was long since over and the other guests were enjoying the dance floor. When Harry approached him, James had trouble looking him in the eye.

"Did I miss the dance?"

James flinched. "Yeah."

"Sorry. I was trying to smooth things over with Mr Malfoy." He slung an arm around James' shoulders, and James tried not to stiffen.

"No problem, Dad." He cleared his throat. "Everything all right?" He prayed his father wouldn't explain.

"I believe so, yes." Harry grinned. "You won't have any more trouble with the Malfoys tonight."

"Erm, that's good." _Oh, gods_ , James thought. _What do I say? Thanks for giving a blowie—or getting one—or possibly both...gah!_ To distract himself, he said, "I think we're going to serve the cake soon."

"Excellent!" Harry replied. "I love cake!"

James was so relieved that his father seemed to be interested in something else that he didn't bother questioning why he was so excited about the cake. He turned away to go let his mother and his in-laws know, just barely missing the searing glance and naughty smile Harry threw at Mr Malfoy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I wanted to post this yesterday, as it was Mother's Day here in the US. But I was too busy being spoiled rotten by my spouse and kids. Anyway, here's part 3 of this increasingly weird tale.
> 
> Warnings: Smut, and Things You Don't Want to Discuss with Your Parents.

**Mother Knows Best**

While it wasn't quite the wedding of the year, the union of two well-known Ministry officials was nothing to sneeze at. The recently-appointed heads of Magical Transportation and the Ludicrous Patents Office had, to everyone's great relief, finally gone public with their relationship and were legalizing their union. In addition to their departments, anyone else deemed even remotely important at the Ministry, past or present, had been invited.

The elegant, formal affair was held in the Ministry itself, in the new extension to the building. A grand ballroom was festooned with gold and black decorations, floating candles, and seasonal floral arrangements. The ceiling had been charmed to show a map of the constellations. Following the ceremony, guests milled around sipping champagne and engaging in light conversation whilst waiting for dinner to be served.

Across the room, Draco spotted the Head Auror. He was talking with a young man Draco thought he remembered working in Magical Games and Sports, but he wasn't sure. The young man was of average height, slender with caramel-coloured curly hair. He tilted his head flirtatiously and leaned in closer. For no good reason, it irritated Draco to watch him, so he turned away.

It had been two months since he'd gone to his niece's wedding and had a raging blow-up with his ex-wife. Things had mostly calmed down, and he hadn't seen Astoria since then, which was a great relief. Unfortunately, he also hadn't seen Potter—Harry—since then either, aside from a few brief exchanges when they happened to cross paths in the Ministry lifts. He virtually never had any reason to be in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement these days.

Perhaps it shouldn't have bothered him, but he wondered why Harry hadn't made an effort to contact him since the wedding. He reminded himself that Harry likely thought of their encounter as a one-off. After all, they hadn't even been friends prior to that. But Harry's hero complex should have prevented him from taking advantage of Draco in his vulnerable, recently-divorced, publicly-outed-by-his-wife state. Not that Draco hadn't been an entirely willing participant, but he'd always thought Harry was a bit too noble for such things.

With a sigh, he turned to the women standing next to him. It was unnerving to see his mother talking with Molly Weasley as though they'd been friends for a lifetime. They were trading pictures with Draco's Aunt Andromeda, who was apparently the reason they'd become acquainted in the first place. Draco peered over his mother's shoulder to see that they were all looking at a photo of Aunt Andromeda's new great-granddaughter, cooing with delight. That explained things; babies were the single greatest unifying factor. Even Draco had to admit she was cute, though he rolled his eyes.

He wandered away from them, looking for something to occupy himself. These extravagant affairs—which the Ministry had begun having since expanding the new section—bored him to tears. He didn't even know the newlyweds well, as he didn't work in either of their departments. Deciding that a drink might be in order, he headed towards the bar.

Before he'd gone ten paces, he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Ah, there you are, Malfoy."

Draco whirled around to find himself face-to-face with the Head Auror. He scowled and took a step backwards. "What do you want, Potter?" he snarled.

Harry looked amused rather than affronted. "I thought I might like to have your opinion on some Ministry business."

"Oh? Well, send my secretary a message, will you? In case you hadn't noticed, we're at a wedding. I'm not working."

"Actually, I think we should talk now. Why don't we find someplace quieter?" Harry motioned to the exit.

Draco sighed. "Fine."

He followed Harry out of the ballroom and into the corridor. This part of the building was unfamiliar to him, since it was so new. Harry apparently had no such issue; he led the way down the doorway-lined hall. They stopped at one, and Harry pulled out his wand. He opened the door and ducked inside. Draco hesitated.

"You coming in? I promise I'm not going to hex you."

Draco scoffed. "It's not that. I just cannot fathom what could be so important that you'd need to lead me into a locked office in a deserted corridor during our coworkers' wedding." He entered the room, and Harry shut the door with a wave of his hand. "Listen, Potter, if this is about something classified—"

Before he could finish the sentence, Harry was on him, kissing him eagerly. There was a beat before Draco decided it wouldn't hurt to respond. For quite some time, all conversation was forgotten.

Harry kissed his way along Draco's jaw, nipping a little here and there. When he reached Draco's ear, he murmured, "Merlin. I've been watching you all night." He put out his tongue and traced the shell of Draco's ear, causing him to shiver. "You look incredible."

"Why—" Draco panted a little as Harry resumed his explorations of Draco's ear, "—didn't you say something sooner?" He groaned and tipped his head back, smacking it against the wall. "Shit."

Pausing, Harry replied, "I've been trying to. I had to get away from that bloody wanker Thomason." He made a frustrated noise. "He's always flirting, but it doesn't mean anything. Thinks he can fuck his way up the ranks, but I'm too old and experienced for that shite to work on me." He sucked Draco's earlobe into his mouth.

When Draco tried to answer, all that came out was a faint squeak, which Harry muffled with another long kiss. He began to fiddle with the clasps on Draco's formal robes, tangling his fingers in the folds because he was too busy trying to slide his tongue into Draco's mouth. Knowing he had to stop things before they went further, Draco pressed his hand on Harry's chest. Harry briefly ceased his handsy wanderings to arch an eyebrow at Draco.

Draco shoved harder. "Stop. No, I meant why didn't you at least owl me?" He cringed at his petulant tone.

Harry stepped back. "I wanted to," he said. "Desperately. I just thought I should let you make the first move, since your divorce was so recent. After mine, I wasn't ready for more than a few one-offs." He sighed. "I've been thinking about you, though."

To prevent Harry from making another go at snogging him, Draco crossed his arms and leaned away. He glared at Harry. "Oh? Been thinking about me while you fuck other men?"

Reeling as though Draco had slapped him, Harry gaped. "What? No. Why would you say that?" He scowled back. "Were you thinking of me while you fucked your bloody gardener?"

"Go to hell. You've no idea how it's been for me. My ex-wife is dragging her feet on carrying out the terms of our divorce, and our grown son won't talk to either of us after what happened at his cousin's wedding. You and I sucked each other—twice!—in the men's toilet at the classiest Wizarding venue in Britain, but you couldn't even be arsed to owl me afterwards. And now you want to drag me into a disused office at a Ministry event for probably the same purpose on the grounds that you've been 'thinking about me'. Fuck you, Potter." He straightened his robes and made to walk away.

Harry grabbed his arm. "Wait. Look, I do owe you an explanation, if you care to hear it."

"I shouldn't." Draco pursed his lips then sighed heavily. "But I suppose I'm curious as to why you waited until now to do anything."

"I already told you that I didn't know what it meant to you." He let go of Draco's arm and ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Gin and I have been divorced for more than five years. You've been done for less than five months. I'm happy to have a go with you now and again, but I'm not looking to be a replacement for either your ex-wife or your gardener. I took a chance tonight that maybe you fancied a quickie when I saw your reaction to Thomason."

"You—you saw that?"

Harry chuckled. "It was hard to miss the way you _Crucioed_ him with your eyes."

Draco couldn't help smiling faintly. "Yes, well, he was a bit too far into your personal space. Might want to watch it with that one."

"I'm having him transferred. He's not much of an Auror anyway."

"He works for you? I thought he was in Games and Sports."

"That's because he used to be a professional Quidditch player. Thinks he owns the world," Harry replied. "I'm sending him to Magical Creatures on the grounds that he has no ability to work with humans."

In spite of himself, Draco laughed. "That ought to sort him. Department's full of lunatics." He cleared his throat. "Good to know he won't be getting in your pants any time soon."

"Or ever," Harry agreed. He leaned in closer. "It's up to you if you want to be the one who gets in them tonight. We can go back out there, or we can finish what we started."

Draco looked into Harry's vibrant green eyes, waging an internal debate. Part of him knew Harry was right; his divorce was too recent. A greater part of him wanted to grab Harry and push him up against the wall, doing naughty things to him until they'd both forgotten where they were. The latter won out.

Instead of answering, Draco pushed Harry until his back hit the wall. He captured Harry's lips with his own, kissing hard enough to leave a mark. They spent the next several minutes exploring each other's mouths while Harry's hands wandered over the top of Draco's expensive robes. He reached down and cupped Draco's backside through the several layers of clothing.

"God, your arse is fantastic," he murmured. He pulled Draco close enough for their bodies to align.

Draco decided there was entirely too much fabric separating them. He slipped his wand out of his sleeve and flicked it, wordlessly sending their robes to hang neatly on the coat rack by the door. Harry sniggered.

"Nice trick. Suppose you teach it to me sometime."

"Absolutely. But not now—I'm busy." Draco proved his point by pressing against Harry and kissing him again.

They moved against each other, touching and tasting and grinding until Draco thought his head might explode. He made short work of unfastening Harry's trousers, pushing them down and out of the way before setting in on his own. When he had freed himself from his clothes, he let his hand slide down between them to gently rub and tease Harry's cock, causing him to utter a delicious moan.

Encouraged, Draco took both of them in his hand and began to stroke. They thrust against each other, seeking release. He gradually increased pace and pressure until they were both gasping and groaning.

"Fuck, that feels so good." Harry tipped his head back and closed his eyes, his mouth hanging open and his breath coming in short gasps. "Shit."

Draco pressed closer, sucking on the soft, sensitive spot behind Harry's ear. He slipped one hand up inside Harry's shirt to fiddle with his nipple. That did it; with a sharp intake of breath, Harry jerked and spilled over Draco's hand and both their cocks. Draco pumped through Harry's orgasm, his skin tingling and his belly clenching as his own hit. He let go, waves of pleasure rolling through him.

He remove his hand from their cocks and cast a mild cleansing charm, effectively banishing the mess they'd made before leaning his forehead on Harry's shoulder. They remained there for several minutes while their breathing returned to normal. After a few minutes, they separated and pulled their trousers back up.

While they were putting their robes back on, Harry touched Draco lightly on the arm. "Let's not make more of this than it is, all right?"

"Of course." _But what if I'm already too far gone for that?_ Draco swallowed and refused to meet Harry's gaze.

"But I wouldn't mind if you wanted to have a drink sometime."

Draco hid the smile that threatened to expose the way his heart beat faster at that suggestion. "That would be…agreeable."

He opened the door to the room and peered out. When he heard feminine laughter, he quickly hid behind the door and peeked around it. He nearly groaned when he saw three women exiting a room twenty feet away. It was his mother, his aunt, and the eldest Mrs Weasley. Draco turned around and scowled at Harry, who had come up behind him.

In a ferocious whisper he said, "You didn't tell me we were down near the toilets."

Apparently, he hadn't been quiet enough, as the women stopped right outside the door he was holding. His mother caught his eye and raised her eyebrows.

"Draco, darling. What are you doing in there?"

"Mr Potter and I were just discussing a bit of business."

Aunt Andromeda frowned. "We're at a wedding. This couldn't have waited until Monday?"

"Er, no," Harry put in. "I have a…report to file."

Draco restrained himself from elbowing Harry; the man was a terrible liar. Fortunately, the women seemed to have an entirely different idea about what they'd been doing.

Mrs Weasley said, "Oh, dear. You two are as bad as Arthur and Lucius. I suspect those two secretly enjoy having a go at one another as often as they can manage it. Harry, why don't you come back to the ballroom and forget whatever it is you were arguing about. I'm sure it's not more important than enjoying a slice of that impressive cake they have."

"Did you say cake?" Harry asked. For some strange reason, his cheeks turned quite pink. "I…er, I'm not sure I'm in the mood for—"

"Nonsense," Andromeda said. She looped her arm through Harry's. "Now, I know I'm an old woman, but I can still dance, and you owe me one."

Mrs Weasley, Aunt Andromeda, and Harry set off up the hallway, but Narcissa hung back. When the others were out of earshot, she rounded on her son.

"You were neither arguing nor discussing business in there, were you?"

"Mother!" Draco felt his cheeks heat up. He had no wish to discuss his activities with his nearly eighty-year-old mum.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm sure I don't need to educate you on the impropriety—not to mention the perils—of public sex." When he went to protest, she held up her hand. "However, your secret is safe with me." She smirked at him.

"Ah, thank you."

"Besides," she said, her voice turning wistful, "there was a time when your father and I—"

He cut her off. "I don't want to know."

"Very well. Then escort me back to the ballroom. If my sister is still young enough to enjoy a dance, then surely I am, and I expect my son to show he has manners after all."

Draco sighed deeply and held out his arm for his mother. This was going to be a long, long night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the next part. If anyone has ideas you want used, comment or PM me. I try to update once a week.
> 
> Warnings: Voyeurism. Smut. Sappiness.

**Spies Like Me**

Harry couldn't help feeling annoyed and irritable as he shuffled his motley group of junior-level Aurors into their positions. The entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement was on the job, despite the fact that their presence was unnecessary at this wedding. The mother of the bride was convinced that her precious angel, who was marrying a well-known Quidditch player, was in mortal peril and had bribed—er, _enlisted the services of_ —Ministry personnel. It hardly made a difference that there had been peace in the Wizarding world for thirty years.

When Harry had complained about it to Draco the last time they were together, Draco had only laughed at him. He'd said, "That's Pansy for you. Her only daughter from her second—no, wait third? I'm not sure—marriage is getting married herself. She's going to be over-the-top about everything."

Speaking of Draco, that was another cause of Harry's misery. So far, they were taking their relationship at an agonizingly slow pace. They'd fooled around at those two previous weddings and been out for drinks at Muggle pubs a handful of times, but that was it. He didn't care that they weren't defining their relationship, but it was absolute torture keeping his hands to himself out of respect for Draco's post-divorce emotional state. At that point, he just wanted a decent shag, damn it.

It didn't help in the least that Draco was in attendance at the wedding. Whilst Harry and his crew of inexperienced Aurors lurked in the shadows and sampled food in the kitchens, Draco was enjoying himself with the rest of the guests. By the time they had served cake, and a lot of alcohol, Harry was physically and mentally exhausted, causing him to be snappish with his Aurors. He wound up making Allsworth cry twice, though the second time was mostly Allsworth's fault for being an incompetent fool. Harry apologised regardless and said he needed some air, escaping to the balcony to stare moodily out over the countryside.

He felt a hand on his back and turned his head to look. Draco stood slightly behind him, smiling faintly. "It's been quite an evening."

Harry sighed. "Yeah. This is fucking ridiculous. Why am I here again?"

"Because Pansy is rich, paranoid, and demanding."

"Right. Besides that, of course."

Draco chuckled. "I am glad you're here." He leaned in and brushed his nose against the side of Harry's face.

"I thought you wanted to keep this private. Someone might see us out here."

"Mm. True." He stepped back. "Maybe we should find someplace else."

Harry glanced over his shoulder. "I might have an idea."

Because he'd had to place his Aurors at strategic locations, Harry now knew the venue far better than he had when James had gotten married that summer. He had a good idea where all the private locations were and whether they would be any good for an impromptu groping session. Not that he'd been counting on that, of course. He led Draco through the building to the back, where there was a business office and several storage rooms. He chose one of the larger rooms and let them inside.

This particular room held all the linens for the tables. There was a low desk in the middle, and the walls were lined with shelves. Harry grinned. It was just about perfect. They could even transfigure the desk if they liked. He reached for Draco.

He was too slow. Before he knew what was happening, Draco had shoved him up against the wall and was kissing him as though he might never be able to do so again. It was rough, greedy, and desperate, and Harry gave in willingly. He had just enough presence of mind to cast a locking spell and a _Muffliato_ before he was consumed. In no time, they were grinding against each other, and Draco's hands were all over him, trying to work the clasps on his purple robes.

Between grunts, Harry managed to throw in a desperate, "Oh, god, please!" here and there. Draco took the hint and backed off, letting Harry shed his own robes whilst he did the same. They kissed deeply in between yanking off layers of clothes, all of which ended up in a heap.

"I've wanted to do this for ages," Harry panted once they were naked. "You've no idea."

"I think I've a pretty good idea, actually," Draco replied.

"Are we here to fuck?" No sense in beating around the bush.

Draco stepped back. "I don't know. Are we?"

"God, I hope so."

He dug his wand out of the pile of clothes and transfigured the desk then dragged some of the table linens off the shelves and turned them into bed-covers. Meanwhile, Draco carefully set their clothes on one of the shelves. Harry glanced over his shoulder and chuckled at Draco's fastidious care. He was rewarded with a slight sneer. When Harry was through making things comfortable, he stepped behind Draco and ran his hand down his back, following it with light kisses.

"Mm. Maybe I don't really want to just fuck after all."

"Oh?"

Harry span Draco around to face him. "I want to do this right." He pulled him in for a long, sensual kiss.

The only reply was a contented hum.

* * *

Pansy was surprised when Draco disappeared from the reception. He hadn't looked like he'd been having much fun, which disappointed her. She would not stand for miserable guests at her only daughter's wedding. When he ducked out, she followed him for some combination of scolding and cajoling. She located him heading for the balcony and quickened her pace to catch up.

To her surprise, he wasn't out there alone. He was talking to none other than Head Auror Harry Potter. Pansy scowled. Potter had been nothing short of unfriendly and unhelpful the entire time they were preparing for the wedding. He clearly did not understand how important it was—or how important _she_ was, rather. There was no earthly reason Draco should be talking to him; it wasn't as though they were friends. Draco was _her_ guest, and Potter wasn't going to make the night worse for him—that was her job. She intended to interrupt them, if for no other reason than that they both deserved her wrath.

When she got closer, she saw that Draco had his arm around Potter's waist from behind and—was he actually nuzzling Potter's face? Her mouth hung open for a moment, but she shut it quickly when she heard Draco say, "Maybe we should find someplace else."

Well, that was certainly interesting. She didn't catch Potter's reply, but when they stepped away from the balcony, she followed them, keeping to a reasonable distance. They made their way down a corridor and slipped through one of the doorways. Pansy waited a few minutes and then approached. She paused outside the door.

The sound of kissing and heavy breathing drifted out from under the door, but it was replaced by an odd buzzing sound. Pansy tried to clear her ears, but it didn't cease. She understood them to be using some sort of silencing spell. That was no trouble; Pansy was always prepared. She had long ago learnt to keep a set of extendible ears on her at all times, knowing she might catch one of her children—or one of her husbands—at something. She worked it through the crack under the door.

"Oh, god, please!"

Pansy smirked. Harry Potter, practically _begging_ Draco to give it to him? Yes, that sounded about right. She listened to the sound of them kissing a bit more, along with some nebulous rustling sounds. They were talking again, and Pansy distinctly heard Potter ask, "Are we here to fuck?" She missed Draco's answer because she was too busy thinking, _Now,_ that _I've got to see_. She reached back into her robes and pulled out an extendible eye. Who knew the Weasleys could invent such useful products? She released the eye, and it followed the ear under the door.

They were in the linens room. Potter had just finished making a bed—where the hell did that even come from?—and Draco was neatly laying their clothes on a shelf. Potter laughed at him a little, and Draco scowled back. Potter came up behind him and touched him gently, then trailed kisses down his back. Pansy shivered as though Potter had touched her instead.

"Mm. Maybe I don't really want to just fuck after all," Potter said.

"Oh?"

Potter turned Draco around. "I want to do this right." They kissed deeply, and Pansy sighed.

She half-expected Potter to just shove Draco up against the wall and for them to start going at each other like animals. Instead, Potter stepped away and took Draco's hand. He pulled him towards the bed, where they lay down on their sides, facing each other. For a few minutes, they weren't even kissing. Potter put his hand on Draco's cheek and slid it down, caressing his neck, his shoulder, his arm. At last he leaned in and captured Draco's lips, delivering a lingering, sensual kiss.

Pansy nearly moaned. She stifled it, afraid her voice would carry through the door. As Potter and Draco's naked snogging intensified, she grew increasingly aroused. She muffled a gasp when Potter rolled Draco onto his back and began kissing, licking, and sucking his way down Draco's chest. He took his time, seeming to have made it his personal mission to cover every inch of Draco's pale skin. When he reached Draco's cock, he put out his tongue and tasted just the tip before engulfing it in his mouth.

Draco drew up his knees, and Potter settled between them, his head bobbing up and down. Draco arched his back and groaned. "Stop. Please."

Potter released him with a slight pop. "Tell me what you want."

Propping himself on his elbows, Draco took several gasping breaths before he answered, "It's my turn."

He turned over, and Potter lay down on his back. Draco ran his hands over Potter's chest reverently. Even Pansy could see that he had kept himself in excellent shape. She didn't care that this was Potter she was admiring—she knew a good body when she saw one. In addition to his firm muscles, she had an excellent view of his dick. It was absolutely beautiful, the sort she liked her own lovers to have—full, but not excessively long and not too thick, slightly curved with a dusky pink tip, jutting out of a crop of neatly trimmed dark curls. No wonder Draco wanted him so badly. He was bloody gorgeous. She wondered which of them was going to do the fucking.

While she was thinking all of that, Draco had moved on to sucking and stroking Potter's perfect penis. He was writhing under Draco's ministrations until he finally said, "Shit…I'm getting close."

Draco pulled away and sat back. "Do you have—"

"I can do it with a spell."

"Wandless?"

"Yes."

"That's sexy." A moment later, Draco twitched and looked down at his hand. "Nice."

"Mm. Go slow, will you? It's been sort of a while."

Draco didn't move. "It has?" He frowned.

Potter propped himself up. "Yeah. I wanted—well, I wanted you," he said. His cheeks coloured.

Almost too quietly for Pansy to hear, Draco said, "Me, too."

Potter grinned and dragged Draco down for another kiss. They stayed that way, rocking against each other until they were both gasping. Draco reached down between them, and Potter spread his legs further. Pansy braced herself against the door, her thighs pressed together as her arousal intensified. She watched Draco use his long, slender fingers to open Potter up, taking his time and making Potter wriggle beneath him.

Draco withdrew his hand and aligned himself. He pushed in slowly, pulling out and thrusting forwards a little further each time. Pansy allowed the tiniest whimper to escape her lips at the erotic sight. She clenched and released her muscles, her heart rate increasing steadily. By that time, Draco was moving rhythmically, and Potter had a hand around his own cock, stroking in time with Draco's thrusts. They were both panting and groaning.

With a shout, Draco's body tensed and his movement ceased momentarily. He began to move again slowly. Potter sped up his wanking, but Draco stopped him and replaced Potter's hand with one of his own. He stroked until Potter's face contorted and his hips bucked up, spilling over his stomach and Draco's hand. Pansy's body tightened, and she shuddered. She hadn't truly come, but she was very nearly as satisfied as if she had. She breathed deeply, descending from her high.

Draco wiped his hand on the sheets and slid out, flopping down next to Potter. They lay together quietly for a bit, Draco's head pillowed on Potter's chest and Potter stroking his hair lightly. Pansy relaxed, preparing to reel in the extendibles and return to the wedding reception. She was stopped by Potter and Draco's conversation. Curious about their post-coital pillow talk, she remained where she was.

"Harry, what exactly are we doing?"

There was a pause, and Potter's hand stilled. "Didn't you hear what I said before? When I said I wanted to do this properly, I meant that you're not someone I'm fucking just because I can. Our history won't allow it, and you mean more to me than that."

Draco extracted himself and turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, his brows knit together. Potter saw his expression, and his face fell. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—never mind."

He made to stand up, but Draco grabbed his wrist. "Wait." When Potter looked back at him, he continued, "You mean more to me, too."

Potter's shoulders slumped and a look of relief passed over his face. He settled back on the bed. They kissed for a bit longer, light but full of meaning and emotion, caressing each other's faces and hair. Pansy's eyes brimmed, and she dabbed at them. Her first six husbands had all been some variation of bastards, terrible lovers, or both. _If I get married again, I want whatever_ they _have_ , she thought, glancing at Potter and Draco one last time. She discreetly withdrew the extendible ear and eye and hid them in her robes once more, slipping quietly around the corner and back towards the reception.

* * *

Harry and Draco put their clothes back on, and Harry sent Draco ahead, offering to stay behind and clean up. Eventually, he too made his way back amongst the guests. In a much better mood, he sought out his team and told them to relax and enjoy themselves for the last bit of the evening. It was obvious nothing untoward was going to happen. Judging by Pansy's behaviour, she was too tipsy to notice or care whether the Aurors kept to their posts.

After another hour, Harry returned to the balcony. This time, he was just there to appreciate the cool air and the shimmering stars. Once again, he felt a hand on his back.

"Thought I'd find you here."

Harry looked over his shoulder at Draco. "Just enjoying the view." He decided to take a chance. "Do you want to come to mine when we're through here?" He cleared his throat. "Maybe spend the night?"

Draco's eyes danced. "Absolutely. Where do you live these days?"

"London. But it's unplottable, so I'll need to write it down for you." He drew out a slip of parchment and put his address on it, then pressed it into Draco's hand.

"I think I'm leaving soon. I have to find Pansy first, though. She keeps avoiding me, and every time I see her, she turns around and walks the other direction. I think she's still angry with me for being a miserable git earlier. I should probably apologise."

Harry laughed. "I wasn't much better." He glanced around before leaning up for a chaste kiss. "I'll see you later, then?"

"Count on it." Draco flashed him a smile and disappeared back inside, leaving Harry's stomach twirling pleasantly with anticipation.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Conversations you never, ever want to have. Ever. Also, getting off on listening to other people get off.
> 
> Just a side note: I have this pretty much planned/outlined through the end, but if there's a specific situation, person, or kink you want to see, just let me know. I'm flexible that way. *grin*

**Like Father, Like Son**

Albus Potter sat at one of the long tables in the ballroom of a casual Muggle hall. It was late, towards the end of the festivities, and about half the wedding guests had already left. The other half were well on their way to being too drunk to Apparate safely. Al wondered vaguely—through his own fuzziness—how they were all going to get home. He supposed it wasn't his problem.

He was unpleasantly tipsy, and he thought he probably could have done with a little less elf-made wine. He stumbled through one last dance with the bride, his cousin Mollie, and worked his way back to one of the long tables. He sat down and rested his chin on his hand, feeling alone and dejected, watching the remaining happy couples sway to the music.

The wedding should have been a joyous occasion, but here he sat, moping. It seemed like _everyone_ was getting married; even Rose had just proposed to Scorpius. Al couldn't enjoy the romantic atmosphere because he was too distraught over his own misadventures in love-land. What he wouldn't give to have his arms around _his_ love, dancing and laughing like the rest. The problem was, no one knew they were seeing each other except for James, who was worse than having no help. He sighed heavily.

He glanced around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the one person he wanted to talk to. His eyes landed on his father, who seemed to be attempting to make up for his lost adolescence. Al thought he'd already had more than enough to drink and was likely to do something utterly embarrassing at any moment. He looked away, not wanting any part of that broom wreck. Instead, he scanned the rest of the room until he caught sight of another potential problem.

His best friend's father was seated alone at another table. Al eyed Mr Malfoy suspiciously; he remembered vividly the scene he and Scorpius' mother had made at James' wedding. Mr Malfoy was a friend of the groom's father, but their circle apparently didn't include the ex-Mrs Malfoy, so she wasn't there. That was good; Al wasn't certain he was up for another shouting match and didn't-care-to-know that revelation. At the moment, Mr Malfoy wasn't doing anything more than nursing his drink and staring moodily at the group gathered by the bar. Perhaps it was all right, then.

Al heard a rustle and felt someone sit down beside him. Hopeful, he turned his head to look. Seeing it was only James, he sighed again. "What do you want?"

"Oh, stop looking like a wet week, will you? This is good fun! Loads better than that ridiculously stuffy affair I had to endure to marry Hyacinth." James' eyes were a bit bright, and his cheeks were flushed.

"Merlin. How much did you drink?" Al asked.

James shrugged. "Too much, probably." He clapped Al on the back. "Looks like you need a bit more yourself."

"No, thanks."

"What the hell's the matter with you, anyway?"

Al looked across the room and nodded his chin at the far table. "I'm fairly certain you already know."

Rolling his eyes, James said, "Right. And if you'd just told Mum and Dad and been done with it, you could be having a much better time. Stubborn git." He shoved Al with his shoulder. "It'll be all right," he said quietly, in a rare show of brotherly solidarity.

"I know. I'm just not ready."

"Something tells me Dad's not gonna care." James shuddered, and Al wondered what that was all about.

"Maybe."

James stood up. "I'm going back over there to dance with my wife. You coming? I'm sure you could coax one of our cousins. We only have roughly a thousand of them."

Al shook his head. With another shrug, James turned away and headed for the dance floor. Al watched him for a minute before rising from his seat. He turned the opposite way from James, working his way to the toilets for a quick pee.

As he was washing his hands, an arm snaked around his waist. He turned slightly to frown at his boyfriend. "Someone could walk in and see us, you know," he said.

"Why does that bother you so much? I doubt your family would give a shit." Lorcan rested his chin on Al's shoulder and kissed his neck.

"Does your family know?" Al demanded, leaning away slightly.

"Of course they do. They've known for years. You seriously think I could keep it from my twin brother?"

Al sighed. "No, of course not. I mean, James knows too. But your parents?"

Lorcan laughed. "My mother is so weird, nothing bothers her." His hands were now roaming over Al's chest.

"Your father?"

"Doesn't care either." Lorcan brushed up against Al's backside.

"You're half pissed," Al tried.

"So're you." He dropped his hand down to cup the front of Al's trousers. Al felt him grinning. "Looks like I'm not the only one who's randy."

Al gave in and leaned his head backwards onto Lorcan's shoulder. "Let's at least take this inside the cubicle."

They locked themselves in, and Al cast a _muffliato_. He was grateful it was one of the first things his father taught new Aurors-in-training so they wouldn't give themselves away when stalking criminals. He'd barely stashed his wand before Lorcan was on him, kissing everywhere he could reach and pulling at his tie in order to expose more skin. Within minutes, they were tugging their clothes off and groaning into each other's mouths. Lorcan trailed kisses down Al's neck to his shoulder whilst brushing his fingers upwards to pinch Al's nipple, humming when Al drew in his breath sharply.

The door to the toilets banged open, and Al and Lorcan stopped short, listening. Al's heart thundered in his chest, though he knew whoever had entered couldn't hear anything. The sound of deep-voiced laughter and wet kissing drifted into the cubicle. Al tried to catch his breath, resting one hand on the wall behind Lorcan's head.

Lorcan glanced at the door of their cubicle and sniggered. "Someone else had the same idea we did." He traced his thumb around Al's other nipple and ran his tongue across Al's collarbone. Al groaned. "Stop."

"They can't hear us. Come on, baby. Just ignore them."

The drunken giggles moved closer, stopping at the cubicle next to theirs. The door slammed shut, and their sloppy smacking continued. A moment later, one of the other men let out a loud moan.

"Shit!" Al hissed. "They're right next to us." He hoped they would have enough sense to mute themselves.

"God. Al, you're so uptight. Who cares? They probably just want to fuck, and so do I." He returned to caressing Al, sliding a hand down to mess with his bits.

Next door, their companions had yet to keep from being heard. They were alternating between laughing, kissing, and groaning. They crashed into the wall between the cubicles. "Oops." More laughter.

Al heard the clink of belt buckles and the rustle of clothing. "Fuck, yeah," one of them breathed. The other one replied with, "Mmm." They followed that with more kissing.

Between having Lorcan's hand on his dick and the erotic noises from the next cubicle, Al was one edge in more ways than one. He huffed and tried to concentrate on returning Lorcan's enthusiastic groping. The men next door were panting, and the walls of the cubicle shook a little.

"Damn, that's hot," Lorcan murmured. He looked at Al with a wicked gleam in his eye. "What do you say we cancel our spell and let them hear us, too?"

"I don't know…"

"It's only fair."

The thought of letting someone overhear them sent a shiver down Al's spine. He wasn't an exhibitionist by any stretch, but the idea was strangely appealing. "All right," he said, removing the spell.

Lorcan grinned and went straight to work, nipping and licking and sucking. Al threw his head back and groaned, momentarily forgetting that their neighbors could now hear him. Lorcan responded with a blissful hum. There was a pause in the sounds from the other cubicle.

In a loud whisper, one of the other men said, "We have company."

The other one stage-whispered back, "That's hot."

They resumed their sex-noises. By that time, Lorcan was tugging on Al to get him to turn around. He span so he faced the cubicle wall and planted his palms against the cool surface. Lorcan whispered a spell and began sliding his slicked fingers inside Al's arse. Al thrust backwards, pressing into his boyfriend's capable hands. With every movement, he let out a tiny grunt of pleasure.

There were a few scuffling noises from the other cubicle. "Ungh." It sounded like they were facing Al and Lorcan by that point. Whoever-it-was whined a little. "Right there."

Al sucked in his breath. Lorcan was right; it was incredibly sexy. He wriggled his hips, imagining that the man in the other cubicle was in much the same position, having his arse thoroughly finger-fucked. It made Al twitch in anticipation. When he removed a hand from the wall to wrap his fingers around his aching cock, Lorcan batted him away. "Not yet, sweetheart. Not til I'm inside you."

"Fuck." He whimpered. "Then do it already." He adjusted to make it easier.

Lorcan removed his fingers and aligned himself behind Al. He pushed in slowly, pausing to kiss Al's neck and massage his shoulders. Al breathed slowly, relaxing as he took his boyfriend in. Gently, Lorcan started to move, sliding in a little further with each thrust. Soon they had set up a rhythm, rocking together.

In the other cubicle, their companions sounded like they were at the same stage. It didn't take long before the room was filled with the desperate moans of all four men, the walls of the cubicles shaking and banging in time with their thrusts. Al finally allowed himself to reach down and grasp his cock, stroking along with Lorcan as he slammed into him from behind. He gritted his teeth as the burn in his arse and the burn in his skin combined into one all-consuming fire.

One of the other men made a long, low sound, and the vibrations travelled straight to Al's groin. He sped up his hand for the last few strokes, hissing as he splattered against the wall in front of him. Lorcan dug his fingers into Al's hips and shuddered as his climax hit. They remained where they were, panting, Lorcan's arms wrapped around Al's torso. They listened as the other men's groans reached a peak until they gasped their way through their own orgasms.

It was quiet for a minute or two while they all caught their breath. Lorcan extracted himself, and Al turned around again. He spelled them both clean, and they kissed for a few minutes.

"That was incredible," Al said, pressing his forehead against Lorcan's.

"I love you, baby."

"Love you too." He stroked Lorcan's cheek and smiled.

There was a _thunk_ from the next cubicle, followed by, "Oh, my god. _Shit_."

"What?" asked the other man's voice.

"In the other cubicle. That's—oh, god. Oh, god. This is not happening."

Al's head snapped up. He _knew_ that voice. How had he not recognized it sooner? Right—because they were in the throes of drunken bathroom sex. His heart began to beat faster again, only this time it wasn't from pleasure.

Lorcan leaned in. "Is that—"

"Yes!" Al whispered. "What the hell am I going to do?" He stood very still.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" hissed the man in the next cubicle.

"Just go," his companion replied. "I'll stay in here. I need to piss anyway."

"You too," Lorcan told Al.

"What? No!"

"You were worried about what you were going to say. Now you don't have to."

"This is utterly humiliating," Al muttered. He yanked his clothes back on. Judging by the rustling, the other men were doing the same thing.

Very slowly, Al opened the door and crept out. The door of the other cubicle opened, and in a moment, Al stood face-to-face with his father. Their eyes locked for a second and then they both hastily looked away.

"Er," Al said. "Would this be a good time to tell you I'm gay?" He risked a glance.

Harry returned the look and raised his eyebrows. "I'm fairly certain you could've found a better way to do it."

"I could say the same thing. _You're_ gay? Is that why you and Mum split up?"

"No, and I believe the word you're looking for is bisexual. If I were gay, I never would've married your mother in the first place." Harry looked in the mirror and straightened his tie. "She and I had other problems that had nothing to do with anyone's sexuality."

"Who's in here with you, anyway?" Al demanded.

"That isn't any of your business." He glanced sideways at Al. "Unless, of course, you want to tell me who _you_ were with."

"I don't think the time to introduce my boyfriend is right after we've both gotten off listening to each other get fucked."

"Albus!" Harry started. He paused, tilting his head to the side. "Actually, that's fair."

"Good. Then can we pretend this whole thing never happened?"

"Gladly."

"Er," Al said.

Harry turned to look at him. "Yes?"

"I'm glad you don't mind that I'm gay."

Chuckling, Harry rested his hand on Al's shoulder. "I'm not any more upset about this than I was when you were sorted into Slytherin all those years ago. I told you then, and I'll tell you now, that I'm very proud of you." He cleared his throat. "Even if this is incredibly awkward."

Al grinned, relieved. "Thanks, Dad."

Harry motioned to the door. "After you."

They walked out of the toilets, leaving their companions still holed up in the cubicles.

* * *

When Lorcan heard the door shut behind them, he risked escaping from his prison. He heard the splash of someone using the loo, followed by a flush. There was a pause, and then the other cubicle door opened. Out stepped Draco Malfoy, his friend Scorpius' dad. Lorcan had to work hard to keep his jaw from dropping. They stared at each other for a moment. Mr Malfoy arched an eyebrow at Lorcan, whose eyes widened in response. Lorcan drew in a deep breath and shrugged.

Mr Malfoy nodded curtly at him before washing his hands and exiting the toilets. Lorcan stood by the sink for another couple of minutes. He had no idea what reason Al's father could possibly have had for maintaining secrecy with their relationship, but he knew he wasn't interested in being the one to unmask them. If it was anything serious, people were sure to find out sooner or later. He peered into the mirror, adjusting himself, then followed the others back out to the wedding reception.


	6. Chapter 6

**Moaning and Groaning**

Snow fell thickly on the Hogwarts grounds. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall reflected the overcast night sky, but the rest of the room was aglow with holiday candles, fairy lights, and the usual giant Christmas tree.

It was Boxing Day, and although most of the current students had gone home for the Christmas hols, the Great Hall was abuzz with activity. Two of the professors had gotten married: Padma Patil, now the head of Ravenclaw and professor of Ancient Runes, and her new wife, Tracy Davis, the newly appointed astronomy professor, had chosen to have their wedding right at Hogwarts. There was much merrymaking as the few remaining students, the entire staff, some past professors, and as many of the couple's former classmates as could be gathered celebrated the union.

They'd been in Harry's year, so he was there once again with his two closest friends, reliving the good times and doing their best not to spoil the mood recalling the bad ones. They sat at a table with Neville, who had managed to remove all traces of potting soil for the occasion, and Hannah, who had managed to sneak away from the Leaky Cauldron for the day.

"It's so strange to be back here," Hermione remarked.

"Speak for yourself," Neville told her. "I'm here all the time."

"I didn't mean in the building." Hermione huffed. "I meant with all our former classmates. It's an odd sort of reunion."

Harry thought merely being in the castle was far less strange than the reminder of all the people who hadn't survived. He glanced around, feeling the pang of loss even nearly thirty years later. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to Hermione.

"I think it will do wonders for inter-House unity," she was saying. "Tracy was in Slytherin when we were here."

Ron rolled his eyes. "They don't need more unity, Hermione. No one really cares about that shite anymore."

Harry chuckled. "Not since our kids, anyway. I think we had every House covered by the time Hugo left." It seemed funny to think that all the Weasley cousins had graduated, and it was only another six years until a fresh round would start when Teddy and Victoire's oldest received her letter.

"It was certainly something else having to teach most of your lot," Neville remarked. "I'm only sorry we were never in on the fun as parents." He and Hannah didn't have children, though that was by design, and Harry knew Neville wasn't serious.

They continued talking, and Harry's eyes roamed the room again. He inadvertently met Pansy Parkinson's gaze. Her face turned red, and she looked away hastily. Harry sighed; he thought it was ridiculous that she seemed incapable of moving past her childhood hatred of him. After her daughter's wedding, she'd avoided him at all costs. There were apparently some people who could never be pleased.

Eventually, he spotted Draco, and he couldn't tear his eyes away. He looked marvelous in smoke-colored robes with deep blue trim. Harry had been away for two weeks on an assignment, and he hadn't even been able to owl. He'd had no contact with Draco in that time. Naturally, they'd been forced to spend Christmas apart as well, with family obligations. Unfortunately, immediately after the wedding, Draco was leaving on his own assignment for work. Harry couldn't help the tiny sigh that escaped his lips.

Ron's gaze followed his. "Ah, mate, you're not starting that again are you? Obsessing over Malfoy? I'm sure that thing at James' wedding was a fluke. His ex-wife's not even here."

Grateful Ron had never quite outgrown his cluelessness, Harry turned to him and tried to laugh it off. "Sorry. I can't help it—every time I see him now, I'm afraid she's going to jump out from behind something and provide us with yet more details we don't need to know."

It took another hour before Harry had the chance to slip away. He crept his way towards the doors to the Great Hall, cringeing every time someone stopped him to ask after his grown children or congratulate him on his career success. He was nearly to the exit when someone grabbed his arm and pulled, dragging him out of the room.

A voice said in his ear, "I suggest running, Potter, before someone sees you."

Harry was swept away by the person still clutching his arm. They fled down the corridor. Just as he was about to ask where they should go, Draco hauled him into an alcove. They remained there for a few minutes, catching their breath. They could still hear the sounds of talking, clinking glassware, and music drifting from the Great Hall through the open door. When they had calmed down, Harry pulled Draco close for a long, deep kiss.

"Good god, I've missed that," he murmured.

"Me, too. I'm sorry we couldn't spend yesterday together."

"It's fine. We both knew it would be like that. Christmas is for our families." Harry touched his face. "Was it all right, then?"

Draco winced. "It wasn't as bad as I expected. Scorpius and Rose made the rounds, of course, and I was with my parents the rest of the time. You?"

"It's been long enough that Gin and I can be together for Christmas. It was good, actually. Victoire's pregnant again. Fuck, that's weird."

Draco chuckled. "Old man."

"Watch it. You're older by nearly two months." Harry shoved him playfully.

They toussled for a few minutes, which turned into several more minutes of heated snogging. Harry pulled back and looked at Draco. "I want you so much. You're leaving right after this is over, and I just need—"

"Not here," Draco interrupted. "I don't care if you cast every spell you know, someone's bound to find us here."

"We can't use any of the classrooms. Neville complains all the time about the new caretaker and how she's always lurking around them, waiting to catch students." Harry thought for a moment. "I know a place we can go." He grabbed Draco's hand.

They fled through the castle, running up the next flight of stairs and careening around the corner, their good shoes sliding a little on the stone floor. At last they reached a door, and Harry pulled Draco inside, letting it thump closed quietly behind them. He backed Draco up to the nearest wall and proceeded to pick up where they'd left off downstairs. Without breaking their stride, Harry flicked his hand at the door and managed a tidy wandless _muffliato_.

Harry tugged a little, and they moved away from the wall into the middle of the dimly-lit bathroom. In minutes they had stripped down, not caring what happened to their clothes. There wasn't going to be any tender touching or slow lovemaking. This was going to be hard and fast and hot, a desperate attempt to cram into a single session everything they wanted to exchange with each other in preparation for two more weeks apart. They kissed and rutted and groped, panting and sweaty, their breathless moans echoing around them.

Harry span Draco around so he faced the mirrors above the row of basins. He ran his hands down Draco's smooth, pale back, following his fingers with his tongue and sliding lower until he reached Draco's arse. He didn't hesitate when Draco spread his legs further apart, bracing his hands on one of the basins. He separated Draco's cheeks and continued his path, firmly licking around the pink pucker. Draco hissed, and Harry took that as license to insert his tongue, eliciting a whine. He continued to kiss and lick and jab, causing Draco to jerk his hips with each penetration.

"Oh, _fuck_ that feels so good," he panted. "Please…"

Another wandless spell and Harry's fingers were coated. He stood back up and slid in one finger, simultaneously kissing and nipping at Draco's neck. Draco's head fell back, a throaty groan rising up from deep within him. When Harry began to thrust eagerly with his finger, Draco whimpered and pressed back against him. Harry smiled into Draco's shoulder; he loved seeing him come apart, loved knowing he was the only one who had ever been allowed this intimate access.

"Please," Draco said again through gritted teeth.

Harry withdrew his finger and spelled his palm slick with lube. He coated himself liberally and stroked, prolonging Draco's desperation. It wasn't until he saw Draco reach for his own cock that Harry began to press inside. He was rewarded with a series of gasps, Draco's body shaking with each inhalation. Harry pushed in the last of the way, the sensation of tight heat overwhelming. He closed his eyes and clenched every muscle in order to remain still, drawing it out as long as he could.

"Move, damn you," Draco muttered.

That did it. Harry let go, his hips snapping forwards as Draco's pushed back. They rocked until they found a rhythm, grunting with the effort. Draco gripped the sink tightly with one hand, the other still wrapped around his cock. Harry placed his hand over the top Draco's, moving with him, encircling his waist with his other arm. They thrust eagerly, desperately, their pace growing frantic as they neared orgasm. They shook with exertion, and their pleading moans rose in pitch until they were both almost shouting. Draco gave a long, feral grunt, exploding forcefully over his hand and Harry's and splattering against the basin. Harry thrust one last time, emptying himself and collapsing against Draco's back, still twitching a little from the release.

They were completely still for a moment, and then they slowly disengaged. They leaned against the wall beside the sinks, both still breathing hard. Harry decided cleaning up could wait until his legs were steady enough to go searching for his wand. He closed his eyes.

A cool puff of air hit Harry's sweat-drenched skin. Beside him, he felt Draco stiffen and turned his head towards him. "What?" he asked.

"I have a feeling we're not alone."

Harry opened his eyes. "That's not possible. I brought us to the bathroom that's always…" He trailed off and his face fell when he realised what he'd done.

"Always what?" Draco sounded irritable.

"…out of order." Harry banged his head against the stones behind him. "Shit. How could I have forgotten?"

"Forgotten what?" Draco's eyes snapped open. "Oh, hell."

"I know!" Harry tugged his hair in frustration.

"That is one hell of a thing to forget, you arse!"

Before they could argue further, a giggle drifted from one of the cubicles. A _feminine_ giggle.

"Damn it!" Draco pushed away from the wall and began to search through his clothes. He produced his wand and spelled them both clean. Harry yelped. Draco had used a forceful charm, and it made his bits tingle unpleasantly. He suspected that was the point.

"You can come out, Myrtle," Harry called.

"Hey! I'm not dressed!"

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, but she's obviously seen everything already. It doesn't exactly matter, does it?" He picked up his pants and slipped them on.

Draco rounded on Harry. "Are you mad? She's going to tell everyone what we were doing in here!"

"No, she won't," Harry argued. "This is probably the most interesting thing she's seen in the eighty years since she died."

"She's underage, you twat!"

"She's a ghost! She doesn't _have_ an age!"

The sound of sniffling made them both stop and look up. Myrtle was hovering just outside her cubicle, covering her face and sobbing. She took her hands away to scowl at Harry and Draco. "You aren't very nice!" she accused. "How could you say such a mean thing? No one ever thinks poor, dead Myrtle has any feelings." She set up a fresh wave of howling.

"Myrtle! Shhh. Calm down," Harry hissed.

Draco eyed him. "Myrtle, as much as we both know he can be an insensitive arse"—Harry elbowed him, but Draco ignored it—"he didn't mean to insult you. We both just want to be sure you aren't going to tell anyone you found us here."

Myrtle stopped her hysterics. "I was going to scream, you know. When you came in." She blinked at Draco owlishly. "The last time I saw you, _he_ was trying to kill you." She pointed a ghostly finger at Harry.

"I wasn't trying to kill him!" Harry snapped at the same moment Draco said, "He's made up for it since then." Harry glared at him, but Draco merely lifted his eyebrows and shrugged.

Myrtle pressed her hand to her lips and giggled again. "Yes, I suppose he has."

Despite himself, Harry was curious. "Why didn't you scream?"

"I saw what you were doing, so I changed my mind. I just hid in my toilet instead." She tilted her head. "I've never seen two men do that before."

"Well, now you have," Draco muttered. He yanked on the rest of his clothes.

"You really aren't going to tell people?" Harry held his breath.

"I won't." Myrtle crossed her heart. "Why is it a secret?" she asked

Harry and Draco exchanged a glance. Draco said, "Because we're not sure how everyone else will take it."

"I think it's sweet," she replied. She gave a long sigh. "Very romantic."

"Er," Harry said. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, anyway, thanks, Myrtle. We're just…going to go now."

She replied with another giggle before retreating to her cubicle. It sounded like she was flushing herself down the toilet, at which Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He cancelled the _muffliato_.

"I think you'd better go first," Draco said. "There are still people who might think I've hexed you, especially if they saw us leave at the same time."

"All right." Harry leaned up to kiss him. "I really am sorry."

Draco sighed heavily. "It's fine." He held Harry's gaze. "I'm going to miss you."

"I know. Me, too."

They kissed again, longer this time. They broke apart, and Harry stepped back out into the corridor. He hurried back along their route, anxious to return to the Great Hall before he was missed. If he'd looked back, he might have seen Draco staring after him, a longing expression on his face.

* * *

Myrtle popped back up in the prefects' bathroom. She really wasn't going to tell anyone what she'd seen. At least, not any _person_. Surely it couldn't hurt to tell some _thing_ what she'd seen. It was too good to keep it entirely to herself, especially if there wasn't any chance of her confession being repeated—not in English, anyway. She floated over to the portrait on the wall.

"Excuse me," she said.

The mermaid in the painting looked at her and uttered a faint wail. Good; she still hadn't learnt to speak human. Myrtle deliberated, considering what to say. She was quiet so long the mermaid gave her an impatient look, flicking her tail the way a person might tap a foot.

"Oh, sorry. I just thought maybe I could share one tiny little secret thing with you."

The mermaid didn't make another sound. She arched an eyebrow and gestured for Myrtle to continue.

"Well," Myrtle said, "It's like this. I was hanging around my toilet when I heard the door open, and in came Harry Potter…"


	7. Chapter 7

**Quality Assurance**

Harry stopped in at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes just before closing time. He'd made an appointment with George to ask about certain products not kept on the shelves, and he wanted to go in when he could be sure there wouldn't be any other employees about.

Verity waved at him cheerfully as she closed up the register and gathered her things. "Hi, Harry! Bye, Harry!" she called, skipping out the door.

George emerged from the back room. "Come on in."

The workshop was an untidy collection of boxes, jars, phials, ingredients, and various random objects. George went straight to a shelf with color-coded bins and began peering into them. Harry fidgeted and shifted on his feet, willing George to hurry it up. It wasn't the first time he'd been in for a product of a more adult nature; it was just the first time he also had something to hide. George was a bit too perceptive.

At last George had a collection of objects in his hands. He brought them over to Harry. "These are some of our latest. Ron's been helping me out with a few suggestions. And no, I don't want to know how he came up with them."

"Right. Neither do I," Harry concurred. "What've you got?"

"This one's already available for purchase. It's a great toy." He held up something that made Harry blush furiously.

"Uh…no. But thanks," Harry said.

George grinned. "I didn't think so. What about this one?"

Harry shrugged. "It's okay, but I'm not sure it's quite right." He cleared his throat. "Er, for two blokes."

"Oh!" George exclaimed. "Why didn't you say so in the first place? I have just the thing." He crossed to the shelf and replaced all three of the items, not bothering to ask Harry about whatever the third one had been. He pulled something else out and brought it over. "These." He turned his hand over and opened his fingers.

Harry peered at the objects resting on his palm. "And what exactly do they do?"

"They're cock rings. They go on your—"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I know that. But I'm, er, only familiar with the Muggle variety. How do we use the charm on them?"

"Ah. Well, you put them on each other, and there's an incantation. Once you say it, they make you—and keep you—hard until you choose to take them off." He grinned. "Then you'd better be ready, because it doesn't take much after they're off."

"And you know this how?" Harry asked. "Wait, no. Do not tell me. I have no interest in finding out that you and Ron were…" He gagged. "Just, never mind."

George laughed. "I have ones for straight couples, too, you know. Works pretty much the same way."

"You said they make you hard. But aren't you supposed to, you know, be hard first?"

"They're charmed to go on whilst you're still soft, and they adjust by magic. They actually keep anything from happening until you use the charm. So you could literally wear them all day, provided you don't say the spell. Ideal for building anticipation because you can mentally be ready, but nothing's going on until you say the word."

Harry chose not to question any of that, though it sounded a bit strange. "So, we have to say the spell for them to work?"

"Yes. Let me write it down for you. If you speak it, they start working."

"And how do we get them to stop?"

George sniggered. "You come."

"But you can't until you take them off, so how do they know to stop?"

"Well, you don't really take them off, you just undo the strap. See?" He showed Harry the fastener. "You can take it all the way off after."

"All right. I'll take them."

"This is my only set, as they're only just out of test mode. I'll have to make you a pair. When do you need them by?"

Harry flushed again. "We're seeing each other after Louis's wedding."

"Plenty of time. Stop by at the end of the week, and I'll have them ready for you." George grinned.

"Done. I'll see you then." Harry backed out of the workshop and turned around, trying not to look like he was hurrying away.

* * *

Draco wondered how he'd managed to attend so many bloody Weasley weddings in such a short span of time. This one was apparently the son of the eldest Weasley brother, and he happened to be marrying some distant cousin of his Black relatives. That meant yet another occasion for his mother and aunt to be in attendance, along with Molly Weasley. The three of them were insufferable. Draco suspected his mother hadn't kept as quiet as she'd promised, because Aunt Andromeda and the eldest Mrs Weasley kept giving him knowing looks.

Before the ceremony, Harry collared him and pressed a small object into his palm. "It's for later, but I thought we could put them on now. Then we can Apparate away as soon as it's not rude to do so."

"What the hell is this?" Draco asked.

"Charmed cock ring," Harry replied. His voice was casual, but his cheeks were pink. Draco thought it was amusing but very sweet, especially since Harry was considerably more experienced than he was.

Draco turned it over in his hands. "What do we do with it?"

Harry held out his hand. "I have the matching one. We put them on each other, and when we're ready, we say the incantation." He handed Draco a piece of parchment. "I had to write it down, because it starts if you say it."

"What starts?"

"They, er, make and keep you hard." Another blush.

"And you want to put them on now? Potter, just the act of touching you is likely to make me hard."

Harry laughed. "Still with the calling me 'Potter'. Fine, then, _Malfoy_. No, they're not supposed to work until you use the spell. They prevent anything from happening—we're safe." He kissed Draco's cheek. "I thought this might be a good idea, since we've, er, had some trouble keeping our hands to ourselves at these things."

Draco considered that. "All right," he said.

They hurriedly pulled down their trousers and slipped the rings on, allowing the magic to take effect. Once they were in place, they fastened themselves comfortably but not tightly. The sensation was mildly pleasant, but it didn't seem to be causing anything embarrassing. Still, he was glad for his formal robes that hid a multitude of sins just in case.

Harry kissed him again, and they separated. This was a fancy church wedding—that part of the Black family clearly had notions about keeping up appearances. Harry and Draco were seated on opposite sides of the gorgeous, wood-panelled sanctuary, but they had a good view of each other. Draco sneaked a peak at Harry, who rewarded him with a tiny, conspiratorial smile. In acknowledgement, Draco twitched an eyebrow.

The ceremony began with an organ prelude. Draco kept his eyes down, listening. His thoughts drifted to Harry. They'd begun spending more and more time together. As often as they could, they took their lunch hour in Muggle London, trading stories about work or their grown children. The pain of his recent divorce had faded, and though it was cool, he and Astoria could carry on civil conversations when they needed to. She was doing quite well for herself, and Draco had to admit he was too. He snorted when he thought about how much he owed Harry for that. A slow smile crept onto his face when he recalled about all the ways Harry had helped him put Astoria out of his mind. He shook his head and decided to derail that train of thought before it caused an inappropriate reaction.

The organ solo ended, mercifully, and the ceremony began in earnest. As the groomsmen filed in, Draco felt an odd sensation in his nether parts. He frowned and shifted, annoyed with Harry for suggesting they be prepared. He remembered the ring was supposed to keep him flaccid and wondered if something had gone wrong. But the feeling subsided, and he returned his attention to the wedding.

The bridesmaids entered gracefully, dressed in lots of pink lace. Draco thought they looked very much like spun sugar, and he had to press his lips together to keep from sneering. As the last bridesmaid floated down the aisle in a cloud of tulle and rose-scented perfume, he definitely felt a twitch between his legs. He scowled, knowing he couldn't possibly be reacting to the ridiculous gown or ultra-feminine air. He adjusted his posture again, but the feeling didn't subside this time; instead, it increased.

When the bride appeared, everyone rose to their feet. Draco silently thanked Merlin again for the robes, because there was no possible way anyone would have missed his unfortunate problem. By that point, he was sporting a raging erection that showed no signs of flagging; it was well and truly trapped by the contraption he had strapped on it. He did his best not to look like anything was amiss, though it hardly mattered. Half the relatives on the bride's side were scowling; it was in their nature.

Sitting back down was no better than standing. In fact, it was quite possibly worse. Draco's cock throbbed, and there was no position that was comfortable. Not only that, there was no escape. If he got up and left, he would insult quite a lot of people. He drew his eyebrows together. The ring really must be malfunctioning. No matter; he would get through the ceremony and then find Harry to help him take care of his not-so-little issue.

The ceremony was long, dull, and overtly religious. That would have been bad enough by itself, but about a third of the way through, Draco was hit with something new. Not only was he fully erect with no way to make it stop, he was now experiencing the sensation of having a particularly good wank. It was as though a firm hand was stroking him in all the right ways, paying special attention to exactly the spots he liked best. The whole thing was intensely pleasurable, if humiliating. He drew in his breath, earning a look of disapproval from an elderly woman in front of him.

He was going to kill Harry. No, Potter—he deserved to be called by his surname if he was going to make him feel like this. After he was dead, Draco was going to find a way to bring him back so he could deliver every last painful hex he could find. What the hell had Harry been thinking? Draco whimpered a little and looked over to the groom's side, trying to catch Harry's eye so he could glare at him threateningly.

Instead of looking amused or mischievous, however, Harry was not even paying attention to him. His eyes were trained on the bride and groom, but he was nearly doubled over, holding his stomach. His lips were pinched and his cheeks were flushed, his nostrils flaring. After several seconds, he seemed to sense Draco staring and turned his head.

Draco met his gaze, and Harry's eyes widened. A pleading look passed across his face. Draco nodded in what he hoped looked like sympathy. Harry returned it, and they both faced forwards again. The sensations continued, and Draco squirmed as much as he dared, trying not to pant. At least he knew Harry was in the same boat. His one consolation was that Harry hadn't done anything on purpose. They were merely the unfortunate recipients of the charm's failure. He pinched his lips together and squeezed his crossed legs, swallowing a grunt which caused several people to glare at him.

After what seemed like hours, the ceremony finally ended. When applause broke out at the announcement of the new Mr and Mrs, Draco moaned softly. The elderly witch in front of him turned around and rapped him soundly on the head; he didn't even care. He barely made it through the recessional before he shot out of his seat. He wasn't about to wait behind a hundred people to greet the happy couple in his state. He only hoped Harry felt the same. They could manage their distress and be back before even half the crowd had been through the queue.

He was in luck. As he passed an alcove near the kitchen on his way to see if Harry had gone to the toilets, a hand shot out and grabbed the sleeve of his robe. Harry hauled him into the alcove.

"Thank Merlin," Draco breathed, tearing at their robes to get them out of the way.

They didn't bother undressing. They just needed release as soon as possible. Once their trousers and pants were down, Harry fiddled with the rings, unfastening the straps. The moment they were free, they kissed and rutted against each other, the pressure and pleasure reaching fever pitch until they came hard all over each other. Groaning with relief, they sank into each other's arms.

"Fucking hell," Harry said as they put themselves back together. "I never would've had us put these on if I'd known you were going to try out the charm so soon."

"Me? I did no such thing! I thought it was you, until I saw you weren't any happier than I was."

Harry shook his head. "Must've been a defective charm, then. I'm going to have a word with George."

"George…Weasley?"

"Yeah," Harry said, giving Draco a quizzical look. "What other George do you know?"

"George fucking Weasley." Draco huffed. "This wasn't a malfunction, you muppet. It was on purpose."

"But he can't have known!" Harry exclaimed.

"Maybe not who you were giving the other one to, but he surely knew something."

"I'm going to kill him," Harry growled.

"I have a better idea." Draco smirked.

Harry's eyebrows rose. "I'll just bet you do."

Not caring if anyone saw them together briefly, Draco led Harry out of the alcove in search of George. They finally found him, talking to a couple of his nieces. He didn't turn around, which meant he didn't see Harry and Draco crouched behind a potted plant.

"On three," Draco whispered. "One…two…three."

Simultaneously, jolts of red light shot out of their wands. They hit George in the backside, causing him to yelp and turn around. Draco grabbed Harry and they ducked away into a small room, an incensed George hot on their heels.

Draco and Harry doubled over laughing. When the doorway darkened, they both looked up to see George, flushed and with his eyes slightly glazed. Harry grinned.

"How're you feeling, mate?" he asked.

"Bloody awful, thanks to the pair of you," he panted. "What the hell did you hit me with?"

Harry sniggered, and Draco answered, "A hex that does essentially the same thing you did to us. Only you'll have to let it wear off or beg us to take it off you if you want relief. You can wank yourself raw and it won't do a damn bit of good."

George gasped and made to grab himself, but he stopped his hand. He glowered at them. "Of all the horrible tricks. And what do you mean, 'us'?" He demanded. "I set that charm on Harry and whoever—" His mouth dropped open. "Ohhh."

"Right. And if you breathe a word of this, Weasley, you'll find yourself at our mercy for more than just the next hour," Draco told him.

"Fuck you," George spat.

"No, thanks," Harry told him. "And good luck with your little…er, problem." He waved his hand vaguely.

They stepped out of the room, leaving George fuming and staring after them. When they were clear of the room and alone in another hallway, they leaned against the wall and laughed until they almost couldn't breathe.

"Bloody brilliant," Harry said. "I've been wanting to get even with him for ages for all the things he's done over the years. Where in Merlin's name did you learn that charm?"

"School," Draco replied. "It was a common form of revenge."

"I'm surprised you never tried it on me, then."

Draco snorted. "I'm fairly certain we wouldn't have been prepared for the results of that if I had."

"Hm. You may be right." Harry looked thoughtful. "D'you suppose I should've given George the rings back?"

Draco leaned down and brushed his lips against Harry's. "No. I think I'd like the chance to use them on our own, without any help from your friends."

"Mm. Now _that_ sounds like an excellent plan," Harry answered before drawing Draco in and distracting him from further conversation.


	8. Chapter 8

**A Portrait's Worth a Thousand Words**

Valentine's Day saw the opening of a new Wizarding art gallery. Renowned photographer Dennis Creevy, who had followed in his deceased brother's footsteps, and his long-time partner, Dean Thomas, were getting married and holding the gallery's opening gala for patron sponsors simultaneously. Their engagement had come as a bit of a surprise. They'd worked together for years in the Wizarding art community, but few had known their partnership extended beyond that of colleagues. When the opportunity arose to open a venue for displaying not only their own talents but those of others, they made their intimate relationship public. Dennis and Dean, who was by then well-known for his paintings, had offered not only their own work but had collected portraits, paintings, and photographs from all over.

The wedding event included beloved figures in the Wizarding world. As both a patron and a guest speaker, Harry had been at the top of the guest list. He had contributed financially to the gallery, but he had also given them his extensive collection of Black family portraits—including the terrifying one of Walburga, her watchful eye at last removed from the entrance of Grimmauld Place. He would be giving a brief speech at the beginning of the festivities. Draco would also be in attendance as a donor. As part of his family's restitution, they had all put money into a community trust, some of which funded the gallery. He, too, had provided artifacts for display, but unlike Harry, he would not be giving any speeches.

The venue was conveniently located in-between a chocolatier and a trendy American clothing outside suggested "shoe repair" to Muggles, but there wasn't a functional door—at least, not for them. When Harry arrived for the event, he wondered how many frustrated Muggles per day tried to get in. He easily discovered the slight shimmer on the door frame and slipped through sideways.

Inside, Harry sucked in his breath. The main gallery reminded him very much of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, only with more pillars and minus the tables. The floor was some kind of smooth, mottled stone. Rather than chandeliers or torches or candles, the walls themselves had a soft glow. They were hung with portraits and photographs of well-known witches and wizards, each one bearing a placard explaining exactly who they were.

A petite woman whose short, black hair was slicked back in a severe hairstyle handed Harry a program for the evening's affair. She caught him staring in wonder at the walls and said, "They're charmed to stay lit only when people are in the room. It preserves the quality of the artwork."

Harry nodded mutely and accepted the program. He wandered through the gallery, admiring the work. In addition to the name of the subject of each portrait or photograph, there was a short description and the name of the artist. Harry noted that only about a third of them were done by either Dean or Dennis. Amongst the rest were works from many eras, some dating back as far as a thousand years or more.

Weaving his way carefully through the growing crowd, Harry at last managed to find the grooms in one of the smaller galleries. That one had been arranged for the ceremony, with chairs lined up to create an aisle. The wedding vows would be spoken in that room, and another gallery was prepared for the reception afterwards. Dean spotted him and motioned that he would be a moment, so Harry took the opportunity to browse the paintings.

This was all Dean's work. Very few were portraits; the vast majority were stylized representations of either common magical artifacts or spells, and Dean had incorporated whimsical text into the paintings. Harry was immediately drawn to the work. It reminded him of the feelings he'd had when he first learned he was a wizard. He imagined that Dean must've had similar experiences which inspired the paintings.

After a short time, Dean approached. "Harry! Good to see you. Come round back and I'll introduce you to Magdalena. She's the one in charge tonight."

Harry followed Dean through the gallery. It was far bigger on the inside than it seemed. He would need to mind that he didn't get lost in there. They passed several rooms, a few of which were open for viewing and several of which were not. Dean kept up a running commentary.

"That's where we have objects associated with legends, including reports that they're cursed. Of course, we've had them checked by Curse-Breakers, but one can't be too careful." He waved at a closed door. "That's the curator's office. You'll meet her later. She's in process of sorting through the two rooms across the corridor."

Dean deposited Harry with Magdalena and the rest of the wedding crew, where they fussed over him and straightened his robes and handed him a parchment with a prepared statement he was to add to his own speech. He sighed. He'd never cared for being in the public eye, though he'd learned to cope over the years, but giving speeches was one thing he did well. There was no need for Magdalena or anyone else to write his words for him. He'd always been of the mind that if he could convincingly distract one of the darkest wizards of all time by explaining life, the universe and everything to him just before they tried to kill each other, surely he could give five minutes' worth of inspiring sentiments. Unfortunately, no one else ever seemed quite as convinced.

There were several other notable public figures present, including the Minister of Magic, the head Ministry Curse-Breaker, and the editor-in-chief of the _Daily Prophet_. When Magdalena seemed content that she had sufficiently threatened the speakers into cooperating, she led them all back to Dean's gallery for the event. There would be the opening speeches, the official dedication of the museum, and the wedding, in that order.

It all went without a hitch, even Harry's part, though he declined to incorporate Magdalena's prepared remarks into his speech. He pointedly ignored her glares and hisses whilst addressing the crowd and waxing profound about his friendship with the grooms and his hopes for their future. As he looked out over the crowd, his eyes locked on Draco's. The corner of Draco's mouth lifted in a subtle smirk. Harry read the meaning in it perfectly—his own patented brand of encouragement and exasperation. Something in that look warmed him from head to toe, and he allowed just a hint of a smile back.

When the formal ceremony was over, they moved into the reception gallery. This one was clearly Dennis' work. Harry admired his skill. He more than made up for what Colin had always lacked in subtlety. Unlike most wizarding photographs, his were much more similar to the Muggle variety. He had a preference for capturing people at close range, seeking to portray a particular emotion. It was an odd juxtaposition, seeing pictures that should have been still yet had the traces of motion present in wizarding photos. The subjects fixed their hair or stifled giggles or brushed tears away, but at much closer range than typical photographs.

Throughout the reception, Harry shot glances at Draco. They kept a respectable distance, but that didn't stop them from conveying their feelings. Harry began to wish that they could enjoy such an evening together, out in the open about their relationship. He wondered why he'd bothered to hide his own male partners in the previous six years. After all, he'd managed to survive the endless gossip about himself thus far, and it had been long enough that Draco had earned the respect he craved—public rows with his ex-wife regarding his sexuality aside. He made up his mind. If Draco was willing, he wanted to make it official. They would need a plan, but he was sure they could come up with something.

After the cake, he caught Draco's eye. Tilting his head, he indicated they should find someplace to talk. Draco gave a subtle nod, and Harry slipped out of the gallery. Within moments, Draco was right behind him. They made their way down the empty corridor, and Harry tried several doors before he found one that was open. He slipped inside, Draco in tow.

It was another gallery, but it didn't appear to have anything in it other than several sets of curtains. It reminded Harry vaguely of something, but he couldn't quite place it. Ignoring the crawling sensation in his spine, which he attributed to a combination of the empty gallery and the presence of his lover, he pushed gently until Draco's back touched the wall. He pulled him into a deep, longing kiss. The sound of their entangled lips and tongues echoed in the empty gallery.

Harry intended to break it off so they could talk, but Draco responded enthusiastically and didn't seem to want to let go. He reversed their positions and pressed forwards against Harry, leaving no doubt about how he was feeling. They kissed and ground against each other, the buzz of arousal increasing until Harry was dizzy with it. He let out a faint moan. If he didn't stop now, he wouldn't be able to.

"St-stop," he said. "I wanted…"—he heaved several breaths—"…to talk to you."

Draco captured Harry's lips again. "Later?" he pleaded.

For a few more minutes, Harry allowed himself to become reabsorbed in their activities. When Draco pushed at his robes and went for his belt, however, he grabbed Draco's wrist.

"I was serious. We can't do this right now."

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Draco withdrew his hand from Harry's grasp. "Well?"

"What are we doing?" Harry blurted. That hadn't exactly been how he'd meant to start.

Clearly taken aback, Draco replied, "At the moment, we're standing in a disused section of a Wizarding art gallery. Honestly, I find it a bit creepy. So the sooner you say whatever it is you want to say to me, the better. Then perhaps we can get back to distracting ourselves." He squeezed the front of Harry's trousers gently.

Harry drew in a deep breath and held it for several seconds before exhaling. "I meant, what are you and I doing with each other?"

"You tell me." Draco crossed his arms. "I thought we were finding a place to fool around, as this reception is bloody boring. Unfortunately, you seem to have stopped us just as it was getting good."

"Not here in this gallery. Not here at this wedding. Hell, not even in each other's beds. Which, I might add, would be a much better place for this anyway. I mean, what are you and I doing together? We've been at this for months, Draco. I'm tired of hiding." Harry ran a hand through his hair, momentarily disrupting the styling charm he'd used. "I've been divorced for years, and I'm tired of spending my time taking care that know one knows I like dick. Up until now, that didn't matter. But now…" He let his voice trail off, uncertain how to explain further.

"Now? Now you want some big, public coming out? What, expecting them to throw you a party? I'm sure they would, actually."

"No! Though that would be a damn sight better than exploding at one of these events and having my ex-wife broadcast my affairs," Harry snipped.

Draco growled. "Do not fuck with me, Potter. You know what I mean."

"No, actually, I don't. I can't figure it out. It mostly seems like we're molesting each other at weddings, but then we start having lunch in Muggle cafes and sneaking into each other's houses like bloody teenagers. It's all done in secret. And then you go on about it like I'm planning to owl the _Prophet_ and publish an announcement—as though they've ever needed that level of help from me to nose around my personal life. Meanwhile, all I want to know is, do we have something or not?"

The blood had drained from Draco's already-pale face. His mouth hung open for a moment then he closed it with a snap. "I am this close to hexing you, Potter."

"Of course. Because that's all we've ever done, right? You didn't even answer my question. So, this didn't mean anything to you? I was just someone to fill your time between your ex-wife and your next lover. I wish you well with your new gardener or whomever you decide to fuck this week."

Draco's eyes flashed, and for a few seconds, Harry thought he might make good on his threat to hex him. Instead, Draco slammed his hand against the wall next to Harry's head, roaring in frustration. Harry's eyes widened in shock, and he stood completely still.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the rest of the room. At the vibrations in the wall and the sound of Draco's rage, a dozen sets of curtains flew open. In less than the time it took for Harry to realise what he'd been reminded of earlier, the room was full of the sounds of shouting portraits. Above the din, Harry distinctly heard the voice of Walburga Black screaming about the "filthy, nasty habits of mudbloods and half-bloods."

Familiar though he was with her particular brand of bigotry, Harry was still mortified when she raged on rather explicitly about "proper" coupling, throwing in a mention or three about her own son and his "unnatural" leanings. Harry very nearly stopped her to ask what she was on about regarding Sirius, but he was distracted by Draco's hand gripping his arm.

"Potter," he muttered, "what in the absolute fucking hell is my mother's aunt doing here?"

"I donated her," Harry replied sheepishly. "The portraits in here are the ones I sent over from Grimmauld Place."

Draco frowned. "Is she talking about…" He squinted at Walburga.

"Honestly, I have no idea what she's on about. I think she's accusing my godfather of something, but that's not new. Why do you think I gave her away?" He shook his head. "We need to get out of here before someone comes looking." He shoved at Draco. "You go first, and I'll handle it when Magdalena or whomever comes to see what the commotion is."

Draco didn't pause to question it; he pulled away from Harry and dashed through the door to the gallery. By that point, the other portraits were trying to shout over Walburga. Apparently, none of them wanted to hear her either. Harry looked from one portrait to the next. The only one who remained silent was, curiously, Phineas Nigellus. His expression remained neutral, and he appeared entirely unfased by the whole affair. For just a moment, he and Harry held each other's gaze. Phineas Nigellus' eyes flashed and he sneered, turning abruptly and stalking out of his portrait.

_Shit. Oh, shit_ , Harry thought. He knew exactly where former Headmaster Black was headed, and that did not bode well. Neither did the fact that he hadn't seemed surprised in the least. Harry should've known better than to trust Myrtle not to confide in anyone that she'd seen him with Draco in her bathroom. Why she would talk to Phineas Nigellus' portrait was beyond Harry's comprehension. He needed to find Draco to warn him.

Before he could dash off, Dean appeared in the doorway, his eyebrows raised at the din. "This gallery's not open yet, mate," Dean said. He peered around the room, which went suddenly, eerily still. All the curtains snapped closed at once. "Er…"

"Sorry," Harry said, stepping out and pulling the door to. "I got a bit turned about, and I think I frightened some of the more sensitive portraits."

Dean snorted. "Sensitive. Yeah. Sounded more like Walburga Black was trying to wake the dead."

"Her temper hasn't improved since being here, that's for certain," Harry remarked.

"Not a bit," Dean confirmed, chuckling. "Come on. You don't want to miss the rest of the evening."

They returned to the main photograph gallery. Dean was snagged by a reporter from the _Prophet_ and carted off to a corner of the room. Once he was gone, Harry looked around for Draco, but he didn't see him anywhere. Cursing under his breath, he span around and nearly smacked into Dennis.

"There you are, Harry! Having a good time, then?"

"Erm, yes. This is…" Harry gestured around lamely. "…lovely."

Dennis grinned. "I hope you'll be back for the public opening," he said. "I'll be announcing my new series, which will be completed for display by the end of summer." He bounced a little on his toes.

"Oh? What's that?"

"It's all loving, sensual couples. I have some models, of course, but I'm asking ordinary members of the community to participate as well." He leaned in. "If you're interested…"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not in a…no, thank you."

"Not in a relationship?" Dennis arched an eyebrow. He lowered his voice and said, "You're joking, right? I saw you and Draco Malfoy eye-fucking each other all night, and then you both disappeared."

Harry gaped. "I—"

"Not public, then? No worries. I won't tell a soul." Dennis crossed his heart. "But if the pair of you are ever available, I'd love to do a set of erotic photos. You both are bloody gorgeous, particularly for men your age." He winked then turned around and walked away, his hips swishing just a little.

Left standing alone, wondering if he should feel insulted by Dennis' remark about his age, Harry just shook his head. He would have to owl Draco to tell him about both the portraits _and_ Dennis. He allowed himself all of twenty seconds to pout before rejoining the crowd and pretending nothing had happened.


	9. Chapter 9

**Have Your Cake**

Harry entered Malfoy Manor for the first time in more than thirty years. It had changed drastically in that time, going from the dark, forbidding place it had once been to a light, open, and airy space. The peacocks were still there, though. One of them seemed to be giving Harry an evil glare; he steered clear of them on his way up the path to the house.

He'd been absolutely amazed by two things. First, that neither Ron nor Draco had attempted to hex the other when their children got engaged. Second, that he'd received an invitation to the engagement party. True, he was Rose's uncle and godfather. However, he had assumed it would be a small affair, as the one they'd thrown for James and Hyacinth had been. Looking back, he recalled Hyacinth's parents turning their noses up just a bit at the intimate family dinner. Perhaps they'd been expecting something more along the lines of Rose and Scorpius' extravagant event.

It was as casual as Harry suspected the senior Malfoys ever got, but it was still a good deal more formal than any engagement party he'd attended—not that he'd been to many of them. It was family only, which meant that it was an odd blend of mostly Weasleys along with Astoria's relations and the small amount of family Draco still had living. It struck Harry how many of his own family had married someone related to the Greengrasses, Malfoys, or Blacks already. That thought made him distinctly nervous.

He was equally nervous about sharing space with Draco for the evening. They hadn't spoken in nearly a month. Harry had owled him several times, but he'd never responded. They hadn't met for lunch—or anything else—in that time. At first, Harry had wanted to give him space. But after he sent the first owl and more than a week passed without a reply, his attempts at contact grew closer together. By the end of that time, he'd given up hope that they might reconcile their differences and stopped owling.

And now here they were, together with many of the same people who'd been in attendance at James and Hyacinth's wedding all those months ago. Harry had spent the early part of the evening close to his children, fighting the urge to search for Draco and demand a talk. Fortunately, Al in particular was a good distraction. He had finally gathered the courage to introduce his parents to his boyfriend, and Harry had been pleasantly surprised at his choice of partner, even if it had been a bit difficult at first to look Lorcan in the eye.

At present, Harry stood in the large, multi-windowed ballroom, gazing out the open French doors into the garden. The sounds of conversation were at his back; in front of him was one of the strangest sights he'd ever laid eyes on. Lucius Malfoy was showing Arthur Weasley an automobile—something that looked to Harry's untrained eye to be rather expensive. He beamed with a pride quite unlike any expression Harry had ever seen on him. Arthur's eyes were wide, and he was nodding enthusiastically at whatever Lucius had just said. Harry shook his head and turned away, smiling.

Narcissa Malfoy was right behind him, and he nearly knocked into her. He opened his mouth to apologise, but she waved him away.

"No need to be concerned, Mr Potter," she said. She peered around him into the garden. "It is odd, isn't it?"

He nodded. "Not something I expected I'd ever see."

She offered a tiny smile. "They have at last found common ground, I believe." She chuckled. "It will be a challenge to get them to come back inside."

"Right."

He stood awkwardly next to Narcissa, wondering what to say next, but he was spared by an explosion of noise and a flash of red light. His Auror instincts kicked in and he left Narcissa's side, making a beeline for the far end of the room. Two young witches stood facing each other, wands drawn and angry expressions on their faces.

"You knew!" the blonde one shrieked. "You knew, and you snogged him anyway!" She launched herself at the other girl, apparently forgetting that she was a witch and capable of using her wand.

The other girl didn't have any such mental lapse. Before the blonde girl reached her, she sent her flying, shouting, " _Stupefy_!"

Her cries cut off in her throat, the blonde girl flew backwards violently, landing directly in the elegantly stacked fairy cakes. At the same moment, Harry and three others cast spells. Harry effectively bound the girl, but the others had clearly chosen poorly. Not only did they miss, whatever they'd cast also hit the stack of fairy cakes. The colliding spells created a shower of cake and icing, raining them down on half the guests. Before he knew it, Harry was covered in the sugary stuff.

Silence descended over the room. Harry stared down at the girl by his feet, struggling to get free. She glared up at him and huffed; he merely shrugged. Reaching down, he hauled her to her feet. Defiantly, she turned her back to him and jutted out her chin. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was glad all three of his children were past that stage.

Rose appeared at Harry's side, accompanied by Hyacinth, who shook her head. "She's one of mum's cousins," she said quietly. "Our side of the family does have a thing for public rows." She looked to Rose. "I'm sorry, sweetie."

Offering a half-smile, Rose replied, "It's all right. I don't care for lemon fairy cakes anyway. Come on, let's go clean up. I think I got some on my dress." She tugged on Hyacinth's arm, leading her out of the room.

Before Harry could decide what to do with the girl, a pair of adults he didn't know came to collect her. The woman glared at Harry, and he made to release her bonds. The man winked at him and shook his head. Harry arched an eyebrow and offered a half-smile, leaving the ropes around her.

Ruefully, he looked down at his cake-covered robes. They were expensive and would need to be cleaned properly, but at least he might get the worst of it off so he could enjoy the rest of the evening. He had no idea where the toilet was, but a quick glance told him he had a while—anyone who'd been in range when the fairy cakes exploded was queueing up at the doors leading out of the ballroom. He sighed.

"You might try upstairs," said a voice behind him.

Harry turned to see Narcissa just behind his right shoulder. "Er…I'm not sure where to go."

"Take the spiral staircase and turn right. It's the last door." She smiled at him and patted his back, carefully avoiding the icing.

Nodding, Harry set off for the staircase. He'd only just reached the base of the stairs when he saw a flash of blond hair and a set of elegant silver robes ascending ahead of him. It was fortunate timing—this was his chance. Harry followed Draco up the steps and down a long, narrow hallway. Draco entered a room on the right, but he left the door ajar, the light spilling out into the hallway. Harry paused outside the door before pushing it open further.

It was a small anteroom with a lot of mirrors and two comfortable chairs. There was a counter with a stack of neatly folded towels and several bottles lined up underneath the mirror. Beyond all that, Harry saw another doorway he assumed led to a toilet or perhaps a bath. He quietly slipped inside.

Draco was at the mirror, attempting to charm the cake bits and icing out of his hair with little success—he wasn't able to get the wand angle quite right. Harry watched him for a few minutes before he cleared his throat.

"Er, want a bit of help?" he asked tentatively.

Draco eyed him in the mirror. "I…all right." He turned around.

Harry raised his wand and flicked it a few times; Draco closed his eyes. Softly, Harry said, "You didn't return my owls."

"I know."

Lowering his wand, Harry sighed deeply. "I've missed you."

Slowly, Draco opened his eyes. "Did you?"

"Oh, yes." Harry had to take a few breaths to steady himself against the rush of emotions. When he was under control, he smirked. "I've missed your mocking tone and the way you always have some snarky comment about something." He leaned closer. "I've missed the way you pretend not to notice me until we're alone in the lift." He took a step forwards. "I've missed the lunches at our favorite Muggle takeaway place." He tilted his head and drew himself up to his full height, letting his nose brush Draco's. "I've missed the way you find ways to sneak kisses in everywhere." He flicked out his tongue and swept it along Draco's jaw, tasting the stray icing that clung there. "Mmm," he murmured. "I've missed the way you fuck me _just so_ and make me see stars." He pressed his lips to Draco's.

Draco wound his arms around Harry's waist, and Harry put his hands on Draco's shoulders. They deepened their kiss, both groaning softly. Harry stepped to the side, dragging Draco with him until they were away from the basins. He pushed lightly, walking Draco backwards until they reached the wall. He readjusted, placing one hand on the wall and pressing against Draco so he was trapped between Harry and the cool stones.

Pulling his mouth away, Draco said, "You're still covered in cake."

"Mm-hm." Harry curled his lips into a devious smile. "Would you like to help me with that?" When Draco reached for his wand, Harry chuckled. "I meant you could lick it off me."

"I see." Draco stared down at him.

For a moment, Harry thought he'd said something wrong. A few seconds later, however, Draco's mouth was back on his and he was kissing Harry again, biting and sucking on his lips and tongue. Harry groaned. He tilted his head, and Draco sucked on his neck before licking a stripe up the side of his face. He stuck his finger in the icing on Harry's robes and drew it into his mouth, making a show of slurping it off.

"Fuck," Harry ground out. He thrust against Draco, seeking friction to relieve the ache in his cock.

Draco ran his hand through the icing again and touched his thumb to Harry's lips. Harry parted them, putting out his tongue to taste the icing before slowly and sensually sucking on the digit. He lapped every bit of cake from Draco's fingers, taking his time to draw it out and revelling in the breathy moans he elicited.

He grabbed the back of Draco's neck and hauled him into an aggressive kiss. With his free hand, he began to peel off Draco's robes. When he'd stripped them away, he worked on Draco's belt and trousers, dragging them down and simultaneously kneeling in front of him.

Swiping his hand across the front of his cake-spattered robes, he collected a bit of the sweet confection on his fingers. He spread it on Draco's cock, smearing it along the entire length. Draco threw his head back and uttered a long, low groan, bucking his hips forwards. Harry glanced up briefly then proceeded to lick every bit of the icing off. He stuck his fingers in his mouth along with Draco's dick, alternating between sucking them and rubbing them against the shaft.

"Gods, that mouth of yours," Draco panted.

That was Harry's cue. Confident he'd cleaned the sticky icing sufficiently, he pulled off with a pop and looked up at Draco. He ran his sleeve over his mouth.

Draco scrunched his nose and drew up one side of his mouth in a half-hearted sneer. "Potter, that is disgusting." But his eyes were wide and his cheeks flushed.

"What? I'm going to spell my robes clean anyway." Harry chuckled when Draco grunted. He stood up and lowered his voice. "I want you to fuck me." He let his robes drop to the floor and unfastened his trousers.

Before he could finish, Draco's hands were on him, tugging at his clothes until he was rid of them. He pushed gently and walked Harry backwards to one of the plush chairs. Rather than sitting and pulling Harry into his lap, Draco span him around.

"Climb onto the chair," he ordered. "Put your legs over the arms."

Harry did as instructed. The position left him feeling completely exposed, his bare arse hanging over the edge of the chair and his arms and torso draped over the back. He was wide open for whatever Draco wanted to do with him.

Draco muttered a spell then slid one slicked finger inside. He pressed and rubbed until Harry was gasping and straining. The spread of his legs made it nearly impossible to get enough traction to thrust back. He was limited to clenching his muscles around the teasing pressure. He couldn't even touch himself; he was too busy gripping the chair back to remain in place.

"Come on," he pleaded.

"Not yet," Draco whispered, offering a naughty chuckle. "I plan on making you see stars, as you put it."

Harry whimpered as Draco added fingers one at a time. He never wavered from his agonizingly slow pace. When Harry let out a string of profanity, he withdrew his hand and leaned down over Harry's back. He trailed hot kisses down his neck and across his shoulders. Moving closer, he covered Harry's back with his body.

"I'm going to fuck you now."

He pushed inside, and the aching, stretching fullness made Harry grunt appreciatively. He couldn't match the movement; he was completely at Draco's mercy. Once he was in, Draco remained still briefly. He then set a rhythm, gradually increasing in depth and speed until they were both tense and shaking with desperation.

"God. Touch me," Harry begged. "I need it."

Draco obliged by sliding a hand around to grip Harry's cock. He jerked in tandem with his thrusts. Letting out a long, loud groan, he stilled, his hand going slack as he emptied himself. Breathing hard and thrusting shallowly through the aftershocks, he returned to his stroking. The pleasurable sensations over nearly every part of his body made Harry's skin burn. The heat pooled between his legs in a rush of anticipation. He was close, so close…

There was no stopping it once his balls tightened. He squeezed his eyes shut as the fire ignited, sending him over the edge. He pulsed over Draco's hand and onto the fabric of the chair, tilting his head back and sucking air into his lungs. Collapsing forwards, he dragged Draco down with him, and they remained there until their breathing slowed.

Draco extracted himself, and Harry carefully climbed off the chair, legs shaking. He leaned up and kissed Draco then went in search of his wand. He cleaned himself and the chair while Draco put himself back together. They both finished spelling their robes free of cake and icing.

"That was…different," Harry remarked. "But really good."

"I wish we had some more cake," Draco murmured.

"Mm. I love cake." Harry pressed his lips to Draco's. _And I think maybe I love you, too_. He sighed softly. If that was how he felt, then he wanted to respect Draco's need for privacy. "I'm sorry I tried to push you before." He laid a hand on Draco's arm. "If you need us to keep this quiet, then that's what we'll do."

Draco nodded. "Just for now," he said. "It'll be easier once Scorpius and Rose are married."

Five months. Just five more months until they could be open. Harry thought he could live with that. "All right."

"We need to go back to downstairs. You go first," Draco said.

Harry gave Draco one last kiss on his cheek and ducked out of the room. He retraced his steps back to the ballroom, where someone had already managed to spell away the ruined fairy cakes. He made brief eye contact with Narcissa, and she threaded her way over to him.

"You found the upstairs bath all right, then?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you."

Leaning closer she whispered, "And did you and my son enjoy yourselves?"

Harry seized up and nearly choked. "Er…what?"

Her smile was indulgent. "Mr Potter, I didn't send you up there merely to tidy yourself."

"How did you…but…you won't say anything, will you?"

Narcissa gave a tinkling laugh. "Oh, my dear. No, of course not. As for how we knew, well, that's a story for another time."

"We?" The panic had yet to subside in Harry's chest.

"Molly, Andromeda and I, of course." She placed her delicate fingers on his arm, and a smirk to rival Draco's graced her lips. "We do need something to talk about at our age."

Harry thought he might faint. He looked up and across the room, his gaze locking with Molly's. She winked, and his face burned. "Ohhhh," he moaned softly.

Narcissa's eyes crinkled with mirth, but then her expression turned serious. "You have no idea what you've done for him, Mr Potter." She squeezed his arm lightly and stepped away.

With a shake of his head, Harry moved away from where they'd been standing. He glanced outside and saw that Lucius and Arthur were now using their wands to do something to the automobile. Deciding to take his chances with them rather than face any further humiliation at the hands of the women, he stepped out into the cool night air without another backwards glance.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter contains watersports (being sexually aroused by/getting off from being peed on). It also contains desperation and accidental peeing. If you are not into that, skip this one. I would say it's not essential to the plot, but honestly, what plot? None of these chapters are essential.
> 
> A/N: As a side note, I think (I may be wrong) that men's trousers in the UK tend to fasten with buttons rather than zippers. But the zipper thing was necessary to the story, so whatever.

**Wardrobe Malfunction**

They were lying in Harry's bed after a particularly pleasant afternoon. Harry traced slow circles on Draco's chest with his index finger, following it with gentle kisses.

"Mm. You should stop," Draco murmured.

"Why?"

"Do you plan to finish what you're starting?"

Harry chuckled. "Ready to go again so soon?" He shifted so he could kiss Draco on the mouth, simultaneously giving his bits a light squeeze. "I don't think so. Neither of us is eighteen anymore."

Draco huffed. "Well, it was worth pretending, anyway. Good god, I feel old."

"The way you fucked me five minutes ago says different." Harry grinned at Draco's grudging grunt indicating his acceptance of the compliment.

"Whatever."

That only served to make Harry laugh harder. When he'd calmed down, he said, "Come with me next weekend. My cousin's youngest, his son, is getting married."

Draco sat bolt upright, knocking Harry sideways. "Hell, no. Your cousin's a Muggle, yes?"

"Obviously. What's that got to do with anything?"

"I've never been to a Muggle affair of any sort." He crossed his arms over his chest.

Harry sat up. "Then this is perfect." He grinned wickedly. "I cannot wait to see you in a Muggle suit. Oh, you are going to look fantastic."

Draco's cheeks pinked at those words. "Oh, all right. But won't your family be there? How do you plan to explain my presence?"

"It'll just be my children. They're friendly with Dudley's family because his daughter's a witch. She was in Ravenclaw, in a stunning twist of irony."

"If you say so." Draco shot him a puzzled look. "Why is that ironic?"

"Erm, you'll see. That is, if you plan to come with me. We'll use a Glamour, and no one will be the wiser."

"Fine," Draco huffed. His features softened. "But you'd better make it worth my while, Potter."

"You _do_ need to learn to stop calling me that, you know." Harry kissed him again and rose to sort out his clothes. "But I promise you won't regret it."

* * *

Draco had good enough manners and long enough years to know better than to fidget, but it was difficult. The Muggle suit Harry had helped him choose was hot and uncomfortable. He had no idea how Muggle men could stand being in such a thing for more than five minutes. He had an insane urge to tug at his sleeves. It was almost worth it, however, just to see Harry in the same sort of garments. He looked marvelous, and the sight had Draco's mouth watering. It was a good thing Harry had promised Draco could take him home and ravage him afterwards.

The ceremony was brief. It was in a church, but it wasn't nearly as long as Louis Weasley's had been—or possibly it just felt that way because Draco wasn't wearing a 'malfunctioning' charmed cock ring. Either way, they moved into the more festive part of the celebration quickly. It was a relief to be able to shed the suit coat and drape it over the back of his chair as the other men were doing.

James, Al, and Lily were all there of course, but none of them had brought dates. They mostly seemed to be present as support for the groom's sister, the one Harry had mentioned was a Muggle-born witch. Actually, Draco suspected the groom's mother wasn't a Muggle at all but a Squib. She had that look about her. He forced himself to swallow his old pride—that wasn't any use anymore anyway—and stuck to Harry's side, refraining from snide comments about Muggles, Muggle-borns, and Squibs. He was rather proud of himself.

The affair was odd. There were no floating candles, no charmed decorations, and no one setting off wand displays for the happy couple as they entered the ballroom. The ice sculptures were actually melting, and the band they'd hired played only Muggle music. Some of it was vaguely familiar, but only because when Scorpius was at Hogwarts, the students had gone through a fad of listening to Muggle songs. One of the popular groups had changed lyrics on several songs to something more wizard-friendly. This band, however, was only performing the standard Muggle versions, all of which had words that sounded alien to Draco's untrained ears.

On the positive side, the Glamour seemed to be working. Harry introduced him to the others as 'Daniel', and no one questioned it. Only Lily had commented on Harry's choice of date. Al already knew Harry was interested in men, of course, and wasn't surprised. Draco wasn't sure why James seemed so casual about it, though he did arch an eyebrow at Harry, who merely waved him away. Lily's concern had been more about her mother than anything else, but Harry had reassured her, and she'd skipped off to talk to the groom's sister.

In the meanwhile, Draco began to relax. Despite the horrid suit, he was having a passable time. There was something refreshing about not tensing up when people approached him, still unsure if their friendliness was genuine or a display. He had to remind himself not to use magic, but other than that, he relaxed and enjoyed Harry's company. James and Al were warm towards him, chattering amiably about their work.

They'd clearly spent a good deal of time around Muggles because they slid easily into using Muggle terms for their employment. Draco knew Al had followed Harry into the Auror corps, but he used a handful of unintelligible words that sounded like he'd read them out of a guide book on 'How to Speak Muggle Police Jargon'. It all left Draco baffled, and he was fairly certain Al was having a laugh at his expense by the end of it, which annoyed him. Harry calmed him with a gentle press of his hand on Draco's knee under the table. Even so, Draco decided he wasn't going to make it through the rest of the evening if he had to do it sober. The whole thing was simply too weird.

After several hours, and several drinks, Draco was both somewhat past tipsy and more than somewhat in need of the toilet. He murmured to Harry, who shrugged and made a non-committal noise about taking care of things as well. Draco resisted rolling his eyes; he suspected Harry thought he'd meant something less literal. Unfortunately, his nether parts were quite pleased at the notion despite the pressure on his bladder. Draco mentally admonished his cock to stay put, thank you very much.

They stepped into the toilets and Draco made to unfasten the suit trousers. He managed the button, but no matter how much he tugged on it, the zipper would not budge. The combination of one drink too many and his panic over the zipper made him desperate. He sucked in his breath. "Damn it."

"You all right?" Harry eyed him, breaking the rule even lovers tend to obey and glancing over from where he was already relieving himself.

"No! I can't get my flies open. God damned Muggle clothing! I'm going to hex you for this." He caught a flash of Harry's stream, and the sight and sound increased his own urgency.

Harry made a tiny noise that might have been suppressed laughter, and Draco glared at him. After a couple of seconds, Harry asked, "Want a bit of help? I'm nearly done."

Stuffing down his pride, Draco replied, "Fine. Just make it quick. I'm desperate here." He turned to face Harry.

After tucking himself away again, Harry came close and knelt down. He sniggered. "Not the first time I've been in this position."

"Shut up! I am about to piss myself here." Proving the point, Draco's bladder contracted and a small spurt escaped. He squeezed harder. "Shit."

"It's okay. I can see where it's stuck. Almost got it."

Draco whined. "I don't think I can hold it." Another cramp hit. He breathed slowly through his nose. "This is fucking ridiculous. Ungh!" He whimpered at another leak.

With a loud noise, the zip finally came undone, and Harry yanked on Draco's trousers. It was too late. Harry stood up just in time to avoid being hit as Draco's abused bladder let go. For a shocked moment, they just stood there looking at each other. An odd look passed over Harry's face and he dragged down his own trousers, stepping close enough to let the stream hit him, splashing over his stomach and rapidly-filling cock.

Draco's mouth dropped open, but before he could react, Harry was kissing him. He groaned, both from the contact and from the relief at finally being able to piss. He felt movement and looked down to see Harry stroking himself. He gasped. The stream slowly tapered off and stopped. Still in a bit of shock, Draco just stood there, breathing rapidly, whilst Harry finished himself off. He felt the hot splatter as Harry came, and his own body responded enthusiastically to the erotic mess they'd just made.

"Fuck," Harry remarked. He squeezed Draco's cock lightly. "Let me take care of that for you."

He knelt down again, apparently oblivious to the puddle on the floor, and ran his hands up Draco's thighs. He followed the path with his mouth, kissing and occasionally nipping the inside of Draco's left leg. With his fingers, he teased a bit, dragging them through the coarse hair above Draco's cock. He hummed softly, sending vibrations through Draco's skin and causing him to inhale sharply.

Harry put out just the tip of his tongue, touching it to the end of Draco's penis and twirling around it. Draco shuddered, and in one swift motion Harry engulfed him. He flattened his tongue and ran it up and down without moving his mouth then retreated enough to leave room to wrap his hand around the base. He applied firm suction and moved his mouth and hand at the same pace until he had Draco moaning and thrusting against his tongue.

"Gonna—gonna come," he managed, twisting his hand in Harry's hair.

Harry hummed again and kept going until Draco jerked his hips and grunted, gripping Harry's hair and throwing his head back as he emptied himself into Harry's mouth. He stilled, panting and waiting for his galloping heart to slow down. When he was calmer, he gently extracted himself, and Harry turned his head to the side to expel his mouthful. They looked around ruefully at the wet clothes and various body fluids all over the floor.

Shrugging, Harry rose to his feet. He pulled out his wand—where the hell had he been hiding it, and why hadn't he used it on the zip?—and made to vanish the mess.

"Wait!" Draco said.

Harry paused, wand raised. "What?"

"Muggles."

"We're alone, or I wouldn't have just sucked you off." Harry flicked his wand and the floor was clean again. One more flick and their clothes were dry. Using a different charm, he freshened everything so it wouldn't smell like sex and urine. Draco wrinkled his nose thinking about what they'd just done.

"You never told me you wanted me to pee on you," he said, leftover shock and embarrassment turning him grumpy despite the excellent blow-job.

"I thought you might find the idea unpleasant," Harry replied. "You're a bit…" He appeared to be searching for a word.

"Snobbish?" Draco supplied, glaring at him. "Is that what you were going to say?"

"I was thinking 'cultured'. Anyway, I never thought you'd do it for me."

"I probably wouldn't have on purpose," Draco agreed. He frowned. "So…you've done this before?"

Harry raised one shoulder casually. "A couple times, yeah. You're forgetting I've not been married for nearly six years, Draco. I wasn't sitting around on my arse waiting for you to notice me, you know."

"I know. Sorry." Draco sealed his apology with a light kiss. "That was different," he remarked.

"Different bad?"

"No, not really. But I'm not sure if I want to do it again. Maybe, if it's not an accident." He felt his neck heat up. "And maybe if it's in the shower where you can…reciprocate." The thought made warmth travel downward.

Now it was Harry's turn to flush. "It's up to you," he said. He leaned up and kissed Draco again, and they were lost for a few minutes in each other.

So lost that they missed the door opening. At the sound of throat-clearing, they sprang apart. Harry's eyes went wide when he saw his cousin standing there, his face reddening.

"Sorry!" Dudley exclaimed. "I came to see where you'd got to."

"Erm." Harry looked everywhere but at Dudley.

Huffing a little at the inarticulate man next to him, Draco said, "We were just on our way out." He brushed past Dudley and hovered in the doorway, waiting for Harry.

"Erm," Harry repeated. "You'll not say anything, right?"

"No," Dudley replied. "Who would I tell? I don't spend time around your lot."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Right. But your daughter does, and I'd rather not be a topic of conversation amongst her friends."

"Fine. I won't say a word." He turned towards the door. "Always knew you were a—"

"Don't even say it, Duddykins," Harry muttered. They glared at each other for a moment, then both of them relaxed and followed Draco out of the toilets.

* * *

"Merlin's spotted dick," came a voice from one of the cubicles once they were gone.

"I know! What was that all about?"

"Dunno." There was a pause. "Dad's into some really kinky shite, apparently."

"Apparently. I did not need to hear it, though. Are they seeing each other, then?"

"I guess. Or just getting out their frustrations, more likely. It's not the first time, anyway."

"I know."

"Wait, you do? How?"

"You do not want me to answer that. I'm guessing you're not going to tell me how you found out, either."

"I'll tell if you do."

"Mollie's wedding, in the loo."

"I win. I caught them at _my own_ wedding."

"Fucking hell."

"Right. Just about literally."

"I still win, though."

"How's that?"

Pause. "Lorcan and I…sort of…might have been shagging in the next cubicle."

"Oh. my. god. Fine—you win."

Silence.

"James?"

"Yeah, Al?"

"Fuck my life."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the het sex in this one, but I really, really wanted to do one with Ron and Hermione. No worries, Harry and Draco are in this too.
> 
> I realise we're a long way from May, and I also know most Beltane celebrations are on April 30, not May 1. But if you get the reference, then you will understand why I did it this way and you won't complain. :)
> 
> There are probably three more chapters after this, all planned but not yet written.

**First of May**

Harry sat on the grass as far away from the bonfire as he could convince his friends to go. Somehow, Hermione had gotten the idea that he needed some fun in his life, and she and Ron had dragged him to a public wedding and Beltane celebration. He'd rolled his eyes; there wasn't anything that sounded fun about sitting through Muggle Neopagans acting out their version of ancient 'magic' rituals. Yet there he was, watching the festivities.

It was long into the evening, and the ceremonial portion of the night was over. For the most part, they were surrounded by semi-drunk—or entirely drunk—revelers laughing and fighting and snogging. Even Ron and Hermione were getting in on the spirit of things. Harry glanced at his friends and huffed quietly.

"Would the pair of you mind terribly taking that elsewhere? I'm trying to relax here," he groused.

"Hm?" Ron asked, pausing long enough to make eye contact before returning his mouth to his wife's.

"I said, I don't need to see it, thanks!" Harry snapped. "Merlin. You'd think the pair of you were Hogwarts sixth years instead of adults with grown children."

"Oh. Erm. Right." Ron nudged Hermione. "Let's find somewhere more private."

She giggled, and Harry scrunched his nose. He'd never been fond of Hermione when she'd had too much to drink, rare though the occasion was. Ron stood and pulled her to her feet, and they escaped among the trees. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

Of course, that still left him with nothing to do but sit staring into the fire and brooding. He checked his pocket watch and smiled wickedly, pleasantly surprised to discover how late it was. Time to go find his way to another part of the festival. He rose and set off in search of the one person who might redeem the evening.

* * *

Ron wasn't so tipsy he couldn't cast a few good spells. He added a cushioning charm to an already soft, mossy clearing between the trees and spread down the blanket they'd brought. He arranged himself on it and patted the space next to him. Hermione sank down and stretched out beside him.

He kissed her softly, intent on making this special. He knew she was feeling her age lately, suffering the pangs of an empty nest. Hugo had followed in his uncle's footsteps and was in training to work with Dragons in Romania, which meant he'd taken off the moment he'd left school. It had been nearly a year, and she missed her younger child terribly. He'd already confirmed he wouldn't be home again until Rose's wedding in August.

This night had been Ron's idea, a way to do something to take her mind off her troubles. He'd been a bit annoyed with her at first for inviting Harry along. After all, he seemed perfectly happy these days—unusually so, in fact. Hermione had insisted, however, and he'd agreed in hopes that Harry would make himself scarce and let them have their night.

Unfortunately, Harry had chosen to be exactly as miserable as Hermione had imagined him to be, and he'd stuck with them all evening. Aiming to make him too embarrassed to stay, Ron had plied Hermione with good wine and a bit of light groping. It hadn't worked quite as planned—instead of Harry leaving, he'd insisted the others find a different spot. It didn't matter; Ron had Hermione's undivided attention now.

He kissed her again, drawing it out and nipping at her lower lip. She opened up for him, and he slid his tongue against hers. Slowly, he moved his hand from her shoulder to cup her breast. She hummed and pressed into him. He teased a little, slipping his fingers just under the hem of her shirt. He wanted to make it last as long as possible.

They continued to explore each other, their senses full of the beautiful, starry night—the cool breeze on their rapidly heating skin, the soft moss beneath them, the scent of the earth and the sky and the trees all around them. For a few glorious moments, everything else was lost in the joy of rediscovering each other.

There was a faint rustle amongst the shrubbery, and Hermione paused mid-kiss to listen. Ron ignored it and trailed a path to her ear, nibbling on the lobe. She shook him off.

"Shh!" she hissed.

They sat very still. When a minute or two passed without incident, Ron shrugged and resumed what he'd been doing. A few seconds later, there was another rustle. This time, Hermione shoved at Ron's chest.

"Stop," she muttered. "There!" she whispered when another noise emanated from a short distance away.

For several tense moments, they lay there, listening. They were rewarded with a faint moan. Hermione giggled; Ron groaned quietly.

"Why can't we just have some peace?" he whined.

"Because lots of other couples want to go Beltaning too. Come on, don't worry about it."

Ron arched an eyebrow at her. She must _really_ be tipsy if she didn't care about having their semi-public sex overheard by the nearby couple. He frowned. "Why are you so casual about this?"

She smiled indulgently. "I did some reading before we came. I knew what to expect, or I wouldn't have let you lead me out here."

"Oh." Ron shrugged. "Want me to cast a _Muffliato_ at least?"

"You can't!" she declared. "This is Muggle space. You'd have to Obliviate them." She tilted her head towards the other couple. "All part of the experience, I suppose," she said.

Before they could continue their conversation, the rustling and moaning increased slightly in volume. A second voice joined in, and Ron's eyes widened. "Oh, Merlin!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and craned her neck, straining to hear. "Ohhh," she breathed. "That's…hot."

"Hermione!" Ron choked out. "That's—that's—it's two blokes!"

Her face coloured. "Er. I realise that."

Ron's jaw dropped. "You like hearing two men going at it?"

"Not exactly." Her flush deepened just as one of the men let out a series of very loud groans.

"Then what?"

"Well, I've never actually heard two men having sex before," she confessed. "But I've read those Auror romances…" her voice trailed off.

Ron wasn't sure how to react to Hermione's admission; words failed him. He shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around it. At last he said, "You do know I used to be an Auror. And Harry still is. Wait…is that why you like them? Oh, gods. Were you fantasising about us together?"

"No!" she said. "Of course not. Erm. I may have given one to Harry after he and Ginny divorced. And I may have…readitmyselffirst." She stared off into the trees.

Ron flopped onto his back and looked over at Hermione, processing. "Well," he said, "we may as well take advantage of the moment." He rolled onto his side and kissed her cheek.

"Really?" she squeaked.

"Yes, much as I may regret this later."

They resumed their kissing, the sounds of the other pair fading into the background. That is, until they were brought sharply into focus again. Just as Ron had Hermione's blouse off and his hand on her breast, the other pair stepped things up a notch.

"Oh, yeah. Right there. Ungh."

Ron froze, incapable of continuing. Hermione elbowed him, and he looked down at her. Hair spread around her, face flushed, half undressed as she was, it struck him that she was as beautiful as the day he'd fallen in love with her. He decided the 'magic' of the evening combined with the wine was making him sappy. He closed his eyes and concentrated on making her feel good.

It was awfully hard to pay attention, however. The pair in the shrubbery were now making nearly constant noise.

"Oh, gods. _Yes_."

"You like that?"

"Ah…ah…yeah…"

"Shit, I'm so ready. I need you to fuck me."

Ron was positive his face must be tomato red, and it wasn't from all the foreplay. At least, not his own. He rested his forehead on Hermione's shoulder.

"I can't do this," he whined.

"Please," she begged. "I'm so turned on right now. I need you." She ran her hands over his bare chest and down to his trousers, unfastening them.

"Aaaaah!" moaned one of the other men.

Heaving a great sigh, Ron made his best effort to return to what he'd been doing. Hermione sat up slightly and shed her bra then lay back down. She hummed with pleasure as Ron's lips brushed her exposed nipple. Wriggling a little to get closer to him, she ran her nails up and down his back. He shivered. He'd never been able to resist that. Drawing her nipple into his mouth, he sucked lightly while his hands wandered down between her legs. He slipped his fingers up underneath her skirt and rubbed her over the top of her knickers.

She sucked in her breath and let it out in a sensual, breathy moan. Seeing her like that, so free, so aroused, had him taking renewed interest in their activities. He pulled back long enough to shed his trousers while she pulled off the rest of her clothes. The moonlight made her skin glow, and she smiled up at him.

Beside them, the other couple were no longer speaking, but they hadn't ceased their erotic sounds. Ron heard both of them panting and grunting, along with the sounds of their skin slapping together. Damn it if Hermione wasn't right—it was hot. They were obviously so lost in their own pleasure they couldn't help it. Ron groaned softly, and Hermione tugged him down to her.

Their lips met. Everything became hands and mouths and heat, kissing and touching everywhere they could reach. They undulated their bodies against each other, the sensations driving Ron mad with want. He tangled his finger's in Hermione's hair and panted into her mouth. She shifted, pressing on his chest so he would roll onto his back. He obliged her, and she straddled him. Slowly, she eased herself down onto him, and he arched up at the sensation of being inside her. She remained still for only a moment before she began to move.

She rocked gently at first, then increased her pace. He bucked up into her, tipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut as aching need built. Vaguely, he heard the other couple still going. It sounded like they were on the edge of orgasm, their drawn-out moans reaching desperate pitch. Just as one of the other men uttered a string of profanity and a sustained groan, Ron thrust hard upwards, causing Hermione to gasp. With a cry, he let go, gripping her hips to steady himself as the rush of his climax tore through him.

Breathing hard, he opened his eyes. Hermione was still rocking slightly. When Ron looked up at her, she extracted herself and flopped down next to him. She pulled him in for another kiss. Slipping his fingers down between her folds, he made slow circles, causing her to press against his hand. Her breath came in ragged gasps.

One of the other men moaned loudly. "Oh, gods. I'm gonna come. I'm gonna fucking come. Yeah…faster…yeah…oh, fuck!"

Hermione's face contorted and her whole body shook with the force of her orgasm. Ron continued gently stroking her through it until she relaxed back onto the blanket, a contented smile on her face. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head. They lay that way for long time, and Ron realised the other couple had also fallen silent. He stared up at the stars, thinking that it wasn't so bad to have shared that moment with them. At least they were complete strangers and he would never have to see them again.

After a time, they tidied themselves the best they could, dressed, and gathered their blanket. Ron would've cancelled the spell on the ground, but Hermione was right—they couldn't risk it in the presence of Muggles. He left it the way it was and they headed back out of the trees, hands clasped together.

* * *

Harry lay on his back, hands clasped behind his head, looking up through the canopy of trees to the starry sky. He turned his head to look at Draco and grinned.

"Worth it?" he asked.

"Gods, yes." Draco chuckled. "Even if that did feel absolutely filthy talking to you that way for their benefit. Why'd you want to do that, anyway?"

"Two reasons. First, because they'd been all over each other all night. It was maddening. I tried to get them to go away by acting all grumpy, but I finally just had to tell them to go shag somewhere else."

"And? What's the other reason?" Draco prompted.

"And," Harry continued, "because I knew Hermione would enjoy it. She's been pretty miserable lately, and she needed to relax." He snorted. "She was serious about those Auror romances. They're dreadful, by the way." He laughed. "I wish I could've seen the look on Ron's face."

"Sneaky bastard." Draco nudged him with his toe. "I realise we're long past being schoolboys, but you definitely should've been in Slytherin."

Laughing harder, Harry replied, "I almost was."

"You were not." Draco sat up. "Were you? And what do you mean, almost?"

"Exactly what it sounds like." Harry, too, rose to a sitting position. "The hat wanted to put me there. I asked it not to."

Draco was silent for a moment. "Because of me." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Harry said quietly. "I'm not sorry for the choices I made. But"—he took Draco's hand—"I'm sorry that we didn't give each other a chance back then."

Draco shook his head. "No, don't be." He leaned in and kissed Harry. "It never would've worked. You still needed to save the world, after all."

"Arse."

"I wasn't joking." Draco's grey eyes shone in the moonlight, and for a moment, he held his serious expression. It changed, though, and he chuckled. "How did we end up here?"

"I dragged you into the shrubbery and forced you to do naughty things to me in earshot of my friends." He cringed, thinking he knew more about Hermione's kinky appreciation for gay sex than he wanted to.

"Not that." Draco rolled his eyes. "I mean this." He gestured between them.

"Oh, that? Didn't it start with your ex-wife and the gardener?" Harry's face heated up again. "And, er, a fantastic blow-job in the men's loo of the most posh establishment in Wizarding England."

"Watch it, Potter. I'd suggest your mouth is going to get you in trouble, but it seems it already has."

Harry tackled him and pushed Draco onto his back, pinning him down. Instead of replying, he leaned down and kissed Draco. "My mouth always finds trouble," he whispered before claiming Draco's lips again.

Eventually, tired and sated, they exchanged one last lingering kiss. They tidied up and put their clothes back on then parted ways with the promise to see one another later. Harry crept back out of the trees and located his friends, who were listening to the Muggle band performing.

"There you are, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "We wondered where you'd gone."

"Yeah, mate," Ron chimed in. "This band's not half bad." He nodded his head towards the musicians. "I'm fairly certain at least one of them's got connections because they played a classic Weird Sisters song."

Harry laughed. "The Weird Sisters…that's going back a long way." Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Hermione staring.

"What?" he asked.

"Er, Harry, you're a little…" She pursed her lips. "Your shirt's not done up right. And are those leaves in your hair?"

He reached up his hand and brushed absently at his hair. "Oh. Must've missed a few."

"Just what were you—wait, no, never mind." Ron shook his head. "I don't want to know."

"Same thing you were doing, I expect," Harry answered. He allowed a slow smirk to bloom. "You sounded like you were enjoying yourselves."

"How the hell would you—" Ron's mouth dropped open. He closed it, opened it, and closed it again. He swallowed several times. "Fuck."

"Ronald!" Hermione exclaimed.

He rounded on her. "You didn't seem to mind when you were listening to them use the word—repeatedly." He clutched his stomach. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Hermione. "Why doesn't it bother you that you heard me?"

She shrugged, and a faint pink tinge appeared on her cheeks. "I may have—sort of—figured out it was you." While Ron was busy making retching noises, she asked, "So, who is he?"

"We're keeping things quiet for now. It's sort of new."

"Oh." She smiled at him. "When you're ready, we'd love to meet him." She pressed her fingers into his arm.

_I don't know if you'll ever be ready_ , he thought. Aloud he said, "Absolutely."

"Can we just watch the band play? I need a distraction," Ron said with a huff.

"Definitely," Harry agreed.

They turned back towards the fire, listening to the music in companionable silence. Sufficiently distracted, Ron reached for Hermione's hand, and they entwined their fingers. A gentle smile played on Hermione's lips, and she appeared the most relaxed Harry had seen her in ages. He mentally congratulated himself on a job well done.


	12. Chapter 12

**In Other News**

"Please?" Ginny begged. "For me?" She gave Harry the sort of look one expects a sad Crup to wear.

He sighed. It was never a good sign when Ginny Flooed him anyway, but this was a bit much. The pleading expression didn't look good on her, and he said so. "Why can't you ask one of the dozen Quidditch players you know?" he added.

"Don't you think I've tried that? Besides, she's excited to meet you."

"Oh, hell. You already told her I'd go with her." No wonder she looked so desperate.

Ginny sighed. "Yes. I told her I would see what I could do. It's just for one evening, and you were going to be there anyway. Now you have a date."

"Why couldn't she go with you?" Harry growled, scowling at her. When Ginny didn't respond, he said, "Oh, hell. Who are you going with, anyway?"

"None of your business."

"Next time, ask me before you tell a reporter that I'd be 'happy' to be her date."

"You'd have said no."

"And this is why we didn't get along when we were married," Harry snapped.

Ginny looked like he'd slapped her, and he regretted his words. Her expression turned dark. "Just be there on time." She pulled her head out of the fireplace.

Harry retreated to the table and sat down with his head in his hands. He'd been hoping to attend alone so he could escape another dull wedding as soon as possible, but now he was stuck with a date provided by his ex-wife. That was bound to result in trouble of one sort or another. Summoning a piece of parchment and a quill, he penned a letter to Draco explaining why he wouldn't be available until later than he'd thought.

* * *

When Harry saw his date for the wedding, he didn't even bother holding back a groan. He excused himself and drew Ginny aside. "What were you thinking? She's got to be half my age!"

Ginny shrugged. "Just try to be polite, will you?"

Harry was surprised steam wasn't coming out his ears. He gritted his teeth and said, "I still have no idea why I agreed to this."

She patted his arm. "It was good of you to let her be your date. Now go, and have a good time."

"Wait…where's _your_ date?" he asked.

Waving a hand dismissively, she said, "Around somewhere."

Harry stomped back over to his date, not caring that he was behaving like a child. This was not what he'd had in mind. The young reporter beamed up at him, her eyes shining as though Christmas and her birthday had arrived all at once. He offered her a tight-lipped smile.

"Oh, Mr Potter, I'm just so grateful you agreed to bring me today. I can't believe I'm actually here!" she gushed. "I hope you'll introduce me around at the reception."

Harry only grunted in reply, though that didn't seem to bother the young woman in the least.

The wedding was an exceptionally big affair because two well-known Quidditch players were getting married. They had met when they both played for the Cannons, which was how Ginny knew them, though neither still played for the team. They had chosen to be married in the stadium at Ellis Moor, and the extensive guest list—which apparently did not include junior reporters—was filled with well-known and important figures.

With a great sigh, Harry accompanied his young date into the stadium to find their seats. She kept up a steady stream of chatter the entire time, filling him in on everything she had learned about Quidditch, the bride and groom, the stadium, and whatever else struck her fancy. At least he wasn't required to do anything this time other than enjoy the ceremony and the friendly match afterward between the brides' teams, followed by the informal reception. Well, that and listen to his date—whose name he'd already forgotten—prattle on. What could possibly go wrong?

That was the question that died in his mind unspoken when he spotted Draco entering the stadium, accompanied by a wizard Harry recognized as a chaser for Puddlemere. Inside, Harry seethed. So that was why Draco hadn't been upset when Harry had cancelled their plans for after the wedding. He already had some of his own.

It hurt more than Harry cared to admit. Neither of them had been seeing anyone else, or at least that was what they'd both said. Harry frowned. They were surely both mature enough to discuss it if either of them had changed his mind on the matter of exclusivity. He vowed to confront Draco about it later, but not whilst in the middle of the wedding. He tried to relax as much as possible given his date's endless talk about nothing of importance.

Before long, Harry had forgotten about both his irritating date and his frustration with Draco. The wedding was thoroughly enjoyable. He'd never actually seen a mid-air union before, and the exhibition match was exciting. Afterward, guests were invited down onto the pitch, and tables appeared along with a bar and a band.

Harry's date—what was her name again?—tugged his hand and led him enthusiastically down among the other guests. This had been the part where he'd hoped to make his token appearance and Apparate away as soon as possible. His chest ached with the thought that Draco hadn't wanted to see him anyway. He shook his head, deciding that it might be better to avoid thinking about it until they were in a less public place.

The young reporter—Mildred Something, Harry finally recalled—put her hand on his arm. "Let's have a dance," she suggested. "There are plenty of people you can introduce me to out there."

Shrugging, Harry finished his drink and followed her out to where other couples were already in each other's arms. He still wasn't much on dancing, and he hoped Mildred would figure that out quickly enough that she wouldn't bother him for a second go. He put an arm around her waist awkwardly and turned her stiffly. Mildred giggled, but she didn't object.

To Harry's consternation, they were shuffled to the middle of the couples where he found himself right next to Draco and his Puddlemere chaser. Their eyes met, and for a stunned moment, neither of them spoke. Draco's expression darkened, and he sneered at Harry's date.

"Looks a little young for you, Potter."

Rather than being upset at Draco's rudeness, relief flooded Harry's body. He leaned in closer so he could press his mouth right next to Draco's ear. "Favor for Ginny. Help?"

A slow smirk blossomed on Draco's face. "Gladly," he murmured back. To his date he said, "Johannes, I don't believe you've met…er…" He raised an eyebrow at Harry's date.

"Mildred Robinson," the young woman supplied.

"Ah. Right, Ms Robinson." Draco smiled. "And how do you know the bride and groom?"

"Oh, I don't," she said, flushing. "I'm a junior reporter."

Draco's eyes widened briefly, but he schooled his features. "Perhaps you would like to talk with a real Quidditch player for a bit, then. This is Johannes Jenke." He nudged the young man, who took a startled step forwards.

For a moment, it looked like they were going to continue standing there in the middle of the other dancing couples, just staring at each other. But Johannes politely offered Mildred a drink, and they stepped away.

"Thank Merlin," Harry said. "Now, would you care to explain to me what you're doing here with Johannes?" He spat the name, hoping to make his feelings clear.

Draco rolled his eyes. "It wasn't because I wanted to be with him. He's some sort of cousin of Astoria's. She was supposed to go with him, but she's gotten sick, so she thought I might like to take her place. You told me you wouldn't be free until late, so I thought I'd take her up on it."

"Oh." Harry's face heated up at his incorrect assumptions. "Well, good." He leaned in again and whispered, "Because I don't like to share."

Draco shuddered. "Neither do I."

"Then we're agreed."

They exchanged a naughty smirk, and Draco drew in his breath. "Gods, jealousy looks good on you."

Harry merely grinned and turned away, threading his way through the crowd and hoping Draco would follow. They found Harry's table, and to their delight, they discovered they'd been seated together. Harry plopped into a seat. Draco was considerably more graceful, and he rolled his eyes at Harry's inelegance. In a moment, they were joined by Mildred and Johannes, who seemed to have enjoyed getting to know one another.

Ginny stopped at their table on her way past. She took in the seating arrangements and her eyebrows shot up. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry." She glared at Draco, clearly not ready to forgive him for his behavior at James' wedding. "Did you want me to see if I can find you another table?"

Draco choked a little on the sip of water he'd just taken, but he recovered quickly. Harry shook his head. "We'll be all right." He gave her his most reassuring smile. "It will be entertaining for Mildred, if nothing else." He congratulated himself on not having forgotten her name again, and she looked at him adoringly. He barely restrained a grimace.

"If you're sure." Ginny gave Draco one last worried glance and moved off.

When she'd gone, Draco chuckled, and Mildred looked between him and Harry. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Harry told her. "Just that Mr Malfoy and I have a somewhat well-known history of being at odds with one another."

Johannes laughed. "Oh, come off it. Even I can see that you two are eye-fucking each other. 'Being at odds', my arse."

Now it was Harry's turn to choke. "Don't know what you mean," he said when he could speak again.

Mildred giggled. "It's true. How long have you been lovers?"

Harry glared at her. "For a junior reporter, you're a bit too perceptive."

She tossed her head. "How do you think I advanced to work with Ms Weasley? I earned my place with the _Prophet_ , Mr Potter." She winked. "Being talkative has its advantages. Everyone thinks it means you're self-absorbed, so they don't bother hiding anything from you. I saw how you reacted when he walked in earlier, and I didn't miss your exchange on the dance floor."

Draco leaned across the table. "You'll not say anything?" He arched an eyebrow menacingly.

"I'm a Quidditch reporter, Mr Malfoy. I have no interest in your personal life."

"Mine, no. But Harry Potter is your date for the evening, and I suspect you're highly interested in _his_ life. You don't think it was rather obvious, requesting to accompany him tonight?"

Mildred shook her head. "Are you mad? I work for his ex-wife, and as infamously contentious as that was, she would have my job if I betrayed her trust." She, too, leaned forwards. "But I'll make you an offer."

"Oh?" Draco's voice was neutral, almost bored.

"When you decide to take this public, in exchange for the exclusive story, I'll make sure the public has access to exactly what you want said about you." She tapped her fingers on the table.

Harry exchanged a look with Johannes, who was watching the whole thing with his eyes wide and his mouth open. "They're both good," Harry murmured.

"That might be acceptable," Draco conceded. "Provided I have your word that nothing gets out before then. If it does, you have _my_ word that your career will be over before you can publish another piece. No one reaches your position without having a few secrets they would rather not have shared."

"Done," she said, sitting back and folding her arms.

The table began to fill in with other guests, and the conversation ended. Harry looked from Mildred to Draco, wondering what just happened. Had Draco just promised a reporter an exclusive on their relationship in exchange for her silence now? He shook his head. He wasn't stupid by any means, but he clearly hadn't quite followed Mildred's motives when he'd agreed to be her date.

At the same time, it ignited something in him to see Draco negotiating on his behalf. If that wasn't a sign of Draco's true feelings, Harry didn't know what was. He swallowed around the lump that formed in his throat. Without meaning to, he'd fallen harder and faster than he'd intended—and now he knew that went both ways. Just as an elegant plate of food appeared in front of him, he looked up to see Draco watching him, a glint in his eye. He lifted just the corner of his mouth, and warmth spread over Harry from head to foot.

Sometime between dinner and cake, Mildred and Johannes disappeared somewhere. Harry didn't have any interest in where. All he wanted was to find somewhere private to offer Draco his sincerest thanks for correctly assessing the situation and providing damage control. He slipped out of his seat and went in search, hoping Draco would read the signal and follow.

He wasn't disappointed. When Draco caught up to him, they ducked under the stands, moving faster and farther away from the crowds. At last they were in a completely secluded area. Grabbing Draco around the waist, Harry shoved him against the wall at the back of the commentator's box and kissed him, hard and desperate. Draco met it with equal enthusiasm.

He pulled away long enough to say, "You've ruined me, Potter. I can never attend another wedding without you. I've wanted this since I saw you dancing with that damned reporter."

"I'm busy thanking you, so shut up," Harry replied, kissing him again. He relented and said, "Please."

Harry's hands trembled with anticipation as he dragged on Draco's buttons. They fumbled with their clothes, trying to both undress each other and run their hands everywhere at the same time. Casting their clothes aside, they continued to kiss, pressing against each other. Together they slid down the wall, Harry landing in Draco's lap.

"Yeah," Draco murmured against his neck. "Ride me."

Harry ground his arse downward briefly before picking up his wand and casting a few charms to make their space both more private and more comfortable. Draco settled back against the wall, and Harry positioned himself so he could sink down onto Draco's cock. As he did so, he groaned, and Draco whimpered.

The position was a little awkward, but eventually they were fused together, Harry straddling Draco's legs. He began to ease himself up and down, slowly at first and then with increasing vigor. He clung to Draco's neck with one hand and tugged on himself with the other, simply needing release as soon as possible. Draco sucked on his skin—his shoulder, his collarbone, his nipple. Harry moaned, everything tightening as pleasure narrowed to center around his cock. He was so close, but he wanted to take Draco with him. He let go of himself and gripped Draco's shoulders.

Underneath him, Draco panted, each breath a shuddering gasp. He cried out and tensed, his head dropping backwards and smacking into the wall. His eyes were squeezed shut and his lips parted, and the sight of him letting go like that was plenty to send Harry over the edge too. All the air rushed out of his lungs at the same time he shuddered and came hard all over Draco's chest.

It took several minutes for them to catch their breath, resting their foreheads together and running hands lightly over each other's flushed skin. After a moment, Harry looked into Draco's grey eyes and saw they were alight with joy. He thought he might break in two at the happiness he felt in that moment, and it welled out of him as a deep laugh.

Clearly amused, Draco asked, "What's so funny?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "This, I suppose. Fucking like teenagers under the stadium." He cleared his throat. "Er…not that I ever did that. Nope."

Draco's eyes widened. "Saint Potter? _You_ fucked under the stadium? When the hell did that happen?"

"Are you saying you didn't?" Harry pulled away so he could look at Draco better.

"When would I have? I spent two years under the control of a madman." He shuddered.

Harry nodded. "I didn't either, actually, but I did get you thinking things." He grinned.

Draco shoved him, and it caused them to slip apart. Harry winced at the unexpected change. They rose from their spot and put their clothes back on.

"So, you really didn't—"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're not going to let this go. What do you want me to do, give you the details of Ginny's and my first time?"

"Urgh. No, thank you." Draco kissed him. "She was your first?"

"And only, until the divorce. Yes." Harry tugged his robes back on.

"Then how in hell did you get so good at it?"

Cheeks heating up, Harry replied, "Lots and lots of practice, of course." He winked at Draco and scooted around the corner without waiting for his lover's reaction.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last regular chapter. I think I've strung you all along more than enough. All that's left after this is the epilogue, which is set after the events in chapter 1. Draco's a bit OOC in this one, but you'll see why, and I don't think you'll mind.

**Taking Matters into His Own Hands**

Harry stabbed viciously at his plate, scowling down at it as though it had morally offended him. Draco sighed and put a hand over top of Harry's, stopping his campaign against the innocent vegetables. Looking up, Harry's expression softened, and Draco sighed with relief. At least he wasn't in danger of Harry's wrath.

"Are you going to tell me what the problem is?"

Uttering a deep sigh, Harry rested his elbow on the table and propped his cheek on his closed fist. "Ginny," he said. "She knows."

That got Draco's full attention. "About us?"

"Not yet, but it's a matter of time. Why do you think she set that fucking reporter on me?" He went back to poking angrily at his lunch.

"Stop that," Draco snapped. "She was fishing for information? What made her think to do that?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that my middle child caught me having sex in the loo at his cousin's wedding?" Harry glared at him.

"Shh! Keep it down, will you? I know we're in a Muggle restaurant, but honestly, they don't need to hear it either." Draco took a deep breath. "Albus told her?"

"God, no. That would mean admitting he'd stayed to enjoy the show." Harry's face went red, and he cleared his throat. "Besides, he doesn't know it's you, does he? Probably just told her I'm seeing someone, and Ginny wants to know who. So does Hermione, for that matter. She asked after Beltane and hasn't stopped dropping hints."

"Women," Draco muttered, and at last Harry cracked a tiny smile.

"It doesn't help that you told what's-her-name that we'd give her an exclusive, you know," Harry said.

"Were you not listening to anything I said? I did not promise her an exclusive."

"Yes, you did! I heard it."

Draco shook his head. "No, I told her that her terms were acceptable if she kept quiet. Her terms were 'when you take this public'. Who says we're planning to make an announcement?"

For a moment, Harry merely gaped at him. A slow smile spread across his face. "Brilliant!" he exclaimed. "So, if we don't bother to go to the _Prophet_ …"

Draco held up a hand. "It won't stop reporters from finding out or from printing whatever they damn well please. But there is no rule that says we have to tell the entire Wizarding world about our relationship. We simply keep on doing what we have been, and no one need know save those we tell privately."

"I could kiss you," Harry said, still grinning.

"Save it. I only have a few minutes until I have to go watch Pansy make mistake number seven."

"Ah, right. I was surprised she didn't ask for a full detail of Aurors like she did with her daughter's wedding," Harry commented.

"Nothing that woman does surprises me anymore," Draco replied. "She's keeping it small and private this time, probably to avoid more press when it doesn't work out— _again_."

Chuckling, they both returned to their lunches, and their conversation strayed to more pleasant topics. Even so, something about the way Harry had sounded so relieved made Draco's chest hurt, though he couldn't pinpoint why.

* * *

Pansy's seventh husband was someone called Julius Derleth, and they were to be married at a small, secluded venue near his home. There were fewer than a hundred people in attendance, including staff. Having already gone through a number of eligible former Hogwarts classmates, whether as husbands or lovers, few of their peers were there, which suited Draco just fine. It amused him that his ex-wife was also not in attendance; Pansy had never particularly cared for her.

Draco sat towards the back, watching Pansy and Julius exchange their (probably) meaningless vows. He knew next to nothing about the man except that he was attractive, wealthy, and worthy of Pansy's incessant gushing over him for the previous six months. How she could possibly have determined him to be marriage material in such a short time was beyond him.

When they turned to face each other to make their promises of love and fidelity, something about it caught Draco's attention. Perhaps it was the specific way in which Pansy tilted her head _just so_ to look into his eyes. It might have been the way they seemed incapable of spending even a moment without touching their hands together. Maybe it was the way they both stumbled a little through the words—Julius' voice broke with emotion, and Pansy had to pause for breath.

Draco shook himself, deciding he was being foolish. Pansy was an excellent actor, and at least three of her former husbands had been as well. No doubt this was entirely for the benefit of the guests. Still, something felt just a little bit different. For no good reason, he was reminded of Harry, and he suffered a small pang as a result for not having been able to bring him to the wedding.

When the ceremony was done, guests mingled and enjoyed light fare and wine. There was no formal dinner, which surprised Draco only to the degree that Pansy was typically one for far flashier affairs. She had no qualms about showing off her assets, in more ways than one. Draco milled around with the other guests until Pansy found him by the bar, slowly sipping his second glass of wine.

She settled in next to him. "Where's Potter?" she asked.

Draco choked and spilled wine over his hand. He set the glass down and wiped himself off. "I've no idea what you're talking about."

"I told you that you could bring a guest," she replied. "So, where's Potter?"

"Once again, Pansy, I don't—"

She rolled her eyes. "I've known for ages, Draco. I caught the pair of you at my daughter's wedding."

That stirred a memory in Draco of their first time together—the way both of them had been so eager, so ready, and yet Harry had taken the time to make love with him slowly. Heat rose in Draco's cheeks, and he discovered that it was a very, very bad idea to think about that just then. He cursed his inconveniently-timed physical reaction whilst simultaneously feeling grateful for his formal robes.

Pansy smirked. "I see you've nothing to say, which merely confirms it. I admit, I am disappointed you didn't bring him. I wouldn't have minded seeing _that_ again." She hummed. "Let's just say your steamy lovemaking was very…inspiring."

Knowing he was now completely red in the face, Draco turned away from her. Fortunately, she got the hint and wandered off, leaving Draco with his wine and his lingering mild arousal. He finished his glass, trying to think about anything else.

Unfortunately, Pansy had entirely ruined it for him. The rest of the night was pure torture. The last straw was when he suffered through watching Pansy and Julius swaying together on the dance floor, lost in the music with eyes only for each other. That was the precise moment when it hit him—he knew what was different.

He knew it because the expression they wore was exactly the same one he'd seen on Harry. Not just when they were having sex but even when all they were doing was eating lunch at a Muggle cafe or flying together out in the country or having a quiet tea in Harry's kitchen. He knew the look because he was certain he wore it too, no matter how much he'd wanted to deny it.

It was an expression of uninhibited, unashamed _love_.

It had looked so unfamiliar on Pansy's face because he'd never seen it on either her or her many husbands. Yet here she was, full of absolute joy, caught up in her new husband's arms and twirling across the floor. Draco sighed, and he ached to hold Harry in his arms like that. Once again, he grew aroused, but it wasn't merely from the thought of all the illicit wedding sex they'd had over the months. No, his whole being—body, mind, and soul—longed for his Harry. He had to blink back tears as well as shove memories aside, wishing to eliminate both the emotional and physical response he was having.

By the time they served cake, he was too far gone. He politely declined the piece the server offered—even cake had erotic memories attached—and ducked out to the men's toilet. He locked himself in a cubicle and tried to breathe. Tears welled in his eyes. Whatever Pansy and Julius had, that's what he wanted. He may not have been a young man anymore, but he wanted what he'd missed out on for so many years—to have that kind of happiness.

He wanted to come home to the same person every night, to have dinner and light conversation about their days and to stretch out by the fire reading or talking. He wanted to spend hours on rainy Saturdays making love and listening to the patter on the roof, dozing off in each other's arms afterwards. He wanted to wake up each morning with the same person at his side, whispering good mornings and having sleepy sunrise sex and wrapping themselves around each other for a lie-in. And he wanted all of that to be with Harry.

By the time all those thoughts had passed through his head, he was beyond aroused. All his associations with love and marriage and weddings had become entwined with the way he and Harry had kept themselves occupied at these affairs. Wiping his eyes, he drew in a quavering breath. Relief. He just needed relief, to release some of the pressure. His hand shook as he shoved his robes aside and unfastened his trousers. He sighed as he drew himself out and wrapped a hand around his erection. It wouldn't take long, and perhaps he could go back out a bit more clear-headed.

His breath hitched as he stroked, and he concentrated all his thoughts on Harry. He gasped as pleasureable tingles travelled downward, and his head fell back against the door of the cubicle. He was so close…

"Draco?"

He inhaled sharply and let it out as a grunt. "Pansy, what the hell are you doing in the men's toilet?"

"I could ask you the same thing, darling. You disappeared after the cake, and I wondered where you'd gone."

"Obviously in here," he snapped.

"Yes, but I know you're not actually using the toilet. Care to explain yourself?"

"Not particularly, no." He tucked himself away, irritated but glad his erection was finally waning. Pansy's voice had a way of killing his libido.

"Come out of there."

Reluctantly, he opened the cubicle to see Pansy standing there, her arms crossed, tapping her foot. The minute her eyes locked on his, however, her expression changed. She extended her arms and he moved into her embrace.

"Watch the silk, darling," she murmured against his hair. Don't get it wet."

Irritated, he pulled back. "Wouldn't want to ruin it," he snarled.

"Oh, calm down. Now, tell me what's wrong." She patted his back.

He took a deep breath. "I think I love him."

Pansy broke out in a wide grin. "Of course you do! But, Draco dear, if you feel that way, why are you hiding in here instead of telling him that?"

He didn't answer; he merely hung his head.

"Oh. You're afraid he doesn't feel the same way?"

"I don't know. He said he doesn't want to hide us anymore, but we've never said… _that_."

Her brow furrowed. "You've been together since at least last Autumn, but you haven't said you love each other?" When he shook his head, she threw up her hands and said, "Men! Well, now you've figured things out, why are you still here?"

"I promised you I would stay."

She waved her hand dismissively. "I will be just fine. You've been here long enough, and Merlin knows your moping is spoiling the evening anyway. Get out of here and go find your Harry."

His Harry. Those were the same words he'd used in his own mind. He chuckled weakly and offered her a small smile before turning on the spot and Apparating straight to Harry's doorstep.

Draco banged on the door. "Potter! Open up!"

There were a few thumps from inside the house and then Harry was there, opening the door and staring dumbstruck at him. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were at Pansy's wedding. Is everything all right?"

"I left." Just looking at Harry, standing there expectantly, made his pulse race. He began to breathe faster. "I had to tell you something."

Harry took a step back, his expression wary. "Go on."

Draco took a long, deep breath. "I figured some things out tonight, and I needed to see you." He sniffled, and that was it. Tears began to stream down his face. At Harry's horrified look, he held up his hand. "Wait! I—I love you. I love you! I fucking love you, and I'm sorry for all the shit I've put you through since forever. I'm sorry I didn't bother to get to know you when we were boys, and I'm sorry I didn't try again when we were men, even just to be your friend. I'm sorry I made you wait so long to hear me say this. But I wouldn't trade it for anything because damn it, I love you!" He put his face in his hands, unable to look at Harry.

At first, Harry didn't say anything. Then, very softly, he said, "Are you going to come in?"

The moment Draco stepped through the door, Harry shut it behind him and wrapped his arms around him. He tugged Draco in for a kiss, unaware or unconcerned with the tears and snot. For some time, they were both lost in their embrace.

When Harry withdrew, he put his lips right up to Draco's ear. "I love you too."

Draco lost it. He buried his face in Harry's shoulder, sobbing with relief. He didn't care if it made him seem like he was drunk or mad or a complete sap—or perhaps all three. If he was, though, it was all Harry's doing, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

At last they pulled apart, and Harry held him at arms length, an amused half-smile on his lips. "That was a hell of a way to tell me," he remarked.

"I don't do things half-arsed," Draco replied, drawing his wrist over his eyes. "If I'm going to make a complete fool of myself, I'm going to do the best job of it I can." Somehow, he managed to muster a smirk.

"That much is obvious." Harry was clearly enjoying having the upper hand. He leaned in closer again. "Well, Mr I-don't-do-things-half-arsed, what do you say you find another way to prove that?" He kissed Draco again, hot and open-mouthed.

"Gods, yes, please," Draco mumbled against Harry's lips.

Tempting as it was to find the nearest flat surface and simply fuck each other senseless, the memory of Harry's tenderness that first time and their mutual confession drove him to find a better place. With his last ounce of willpower, he dragged them both up the stairs to Harry's bedroom.

As much as he wanted to make this last, he knew he was too far gone for much foreplay. Draco kissed down Harry's neck and across his chest; Harry raked his hands through Draco's hair and ran his fingertips down his spine. They pressed against each other, drawing shuddering breaths and soft moans until both were panting and begging each other for more.

On another night, Draco might have flipped them and taken Harry from behind or rolled so he was underneath or lifted Harry's legs onto his shoulders to deepen penetration. But he wanted to see his love's eyes, to kiss his mouth, and to be inches from his face when it twisted with pleasure. He aligned himself and slid inside, waiting for Harry to adjust and wrap his legs around his back to draw them closer.

They moved in perfect sync, their months of learning each other's wants and needs allowing them to find their rhythm with practiced ease. Draco rocked and thrust from above, and Harry matched every movement with his own until the intensity of their lovemaking sent Draco crashing over the edge, erupting inside Harry and crying out his name. Together, they reached between their bodies and stroked Harry's cock skillfully until he, too, tipped and spilled, coating their hands and chests.

Breathing ragged and hearts thundering, they remained fused together until their panting gasps had lessened. Draco leaned down and kissed Harry again before pulling out with a groan. They lay next to each other in companionable silence for a few minutes.

As he reached for his wand to spell them clean, Harry said, "I suppose we should say 'I love you' more often. That was brilliant."

Draco smiled. "It was. And I do, you know."

"Do what?"

"Love you, of course." He drew Harry against him so his back was to Draco's front. "I love you."

Harry turned his head enough to press a kiss at the corner of Draco's mouth. "I love you too."

They drifted off in each other's arms, and it was every bit as satisfying as Draco had anticipated.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here you go. The last part. *sniff* It always makes me sad to let them go, but all good things do come to an end. As always, thanks for the reviews, favorites, and follows. Enjoy!
> 
> This is set after the events in Chapter 1, in case that isn't clear.

**Epilogue—One Month Later**

Rose and Scorpius had taken off for their honeymoon, the guests had gone, and the remaining few people were helping clean up the pavillion. Harry sat across from Ginny at the one table still standing. She smiled at him, the self-congratulatory smirk of an ex-wife whose suspicions had been confirmed.

"The boys told you?" Harry asked.

"Not in so many words, and they refused to say who it was. But when both of them began acting strangely, I asked them about it." She laughed. "Albus in particular was reluctant to explain. Any idea why?"

"Er, no." Harry's face heated up.

Ginny arched an eyebrow. "Hm," she said. "Well, I am sorry about Mildred. It was a waste anyway—she never did give me anything."

"That's because Draco made a deal with her that she could have an exclusive if we made ourselves public." Harry snorted. It was probably a moot point now anyway.

Eyes widening, Ginny asked, "Are you going to?"

"No. Everyone here knows now, and I'm far too old to give even one fuck what the _Prophet_ prints." He shrugged. "Not that I ever did."

"You definitely didn't," Ginny agreed. She reached across the table for his hand. "I am glad for you, you know. We've all changed since we were children, and you deserve to be happy. Merlin knows, I couldn't do that for you." She sighed.

Harry withdrew his hand and cupped her cheek. "Oh, no, love. You made me very happy for a long time, and then we managed to make each other miserable for a while. But I would not trade you or our life together for the entire Wizarding world. I do still care about you, even if it's been ages since we were in love." He smiled at her.

"Ah, you always did know how to get to me," she said, leaning into his touch.

"Rumour has it you're seeing someone else who can get to you," he replied, glancing over to the bar where a tall, dark-skinned man lounged patiently.

Ginny grinned, and it lit her whole face in a way that warmed Harry head to toe. They stood, and Harry pressed a kiss to her cheek before they parted ways. As he made his way towards Ron and Hermione to offer help, he was stopped by Astoria.

"Mr Potter," she said, her voice warmer than he expected.

"You can call me Harry."

"Harry, then. I wondered…might I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

She twisted her hands. "You and your ex-wife seem to enjoy a friendship. Will you tell me how that came about?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Er, well, we worked on finding out what happened and why, and we concentrated on resolving some of that tension without the expectation of reconciling our marriage." He inhaled slowly then released the breath. "But that's our story. You'll need to find your own."

Astoria nodded. "I don't want to reconcile. And obviously, you and my ex-husband—" She looked around, her eyes resting on Draco, then sighed softly. "Do you love him?"

Harry swallowed. "I do. Very much."

She nodded. "I never did," she said, her voice heavy with sadness. "Cared for him, yes. Love? No. But I think I could care for him again as a friend."

"If that's what you want, and what he wants, I have no doubt you can do that."

The smile that graced Astoria's face was nearly as lovely as the one Ginny had worn only moments before. Harry gave her arm an affectionate squeeze, hoping their exchange was the start of a whole new chapter in their lives. He started again towards his friends, only to be stopped a second time.

"Dad—"

"Save it, James. I'm a bit too angry with you right now for a conversation."

"But, Dad—"

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes heavenward. He looked back at James. "You should have told me you knew. I'm less angry that you told everyone than that you didn't at least talk to me about it."

"Yeah, that wouldn't have been humiliating at all. 'By the way, Dad, I caught you sucking cock in the loo. Care to explain?' You'd have been all right with that?" James crossed his arms.

"Must you be so crude? Yes, it would have been embarrassing for us both, but probably less so than what happened here." Harry pursed his lips. "It's not really about tonight or even your wedding, is it?"

"No," James admitted. "You and Mum…" he trailed off.

James wasn't one for heartfelt father-son talks, so Harry merely laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "It was what it was, but you are not me, and Hyacinth is not your mother."

Nodding, James pulled away and retreated. Harry decided to simply stand there waiting in case anyone else wanted to talk to him. It appeared most people were avoiding him, fortunately, though he wasn't sure if that was because they were busy or because they didn't know what to say.

Albus joined him eventually, along with Lorcan. They exchanged amused smiles, and Harry almost laughed at the reminder it was his younger son, not his older one, who was most like him, in more ways than his looks.

"I really am pleased for you, Dad," he said. "Erm…I hope you don't mind that I don't ask you for advice, though."

"I don't mind. But I will give you one suggestion for free that I hope you'll take. Never—I repeat _neve_ r—accept any 'help' from your Uncle George, especially when it comes to novelty products."

"Why not?" Lorcan put in.

"You don't want to know. Trust me." Harry clapped his son on the back and moved away from them, finally locating Ron and Hermione.

He pulled them both back into the house, away from the people still cleaning. They sat down at the kitchen table, and Harry took a deep breath.

"I really am sorry I didn't tell you," he began.

Hermione reached out for him. "I understand why you didn't." She looked over at her husband. "Old feelings linger. But we're not the same people we were thirty years ago."

"No, we're not," he agreed.

Ron cringed. "As much as I agree with my wife, and as…ah…happy as I suppose I am for you, I now know far more about you than I ever wanted to, mate."

Harry replied, "I could say the same." They both grimaced and looked away from each other.

Always more perceptive than Harry preferred, Hermione said, "I have a feeling there's more you're not telling us."

Nodding, Harry replied, "There is. But I promise to firecall you tomorrow. This isn't the time or place, and I do have one more thing to do first." He rose from the table, and his friends followed.

Hermione folded him into an embrace. "Take care of yourself, Harry." She let go and looked out the window. "And take care of him, too."

"I will," he assured her.

With all the necessary conversations over, Harry went in search of Draco. He was at the edge of the pavillion, talking to Astoria. Their expressions were grim, but no one was hexing anyone, and their voices were low. They looked up simultaneously and spotted Harry, who decided he wasn't intruding and stepped over to them. Astoria didn't smile, but she nodded and her hand brushed Harry's lightly as she walked past him.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

"Absolutely," Draco replied, and together they Apparated away.

They landed on Harry's stoop. Harry's outward cool was betrayed when he fumbled with the key, his hand shaking a little. It had been a long night, and all he wanted was to be inside with Draco, taking comfort in one another. Draco placed a cool hand on Harry's shoulder, and it steadied him. He let them in the house.

They paused in the entry to shed their outer robes, and Draco reached for him tenderly. He kissed Harry slowly and deeply, exploring his mouth but keeping his hands rested lightly on Harry's hips. For the moment, they didn't need anything more.

Harry broke the kiss first. "Wait here," he said.

Without waiting for an answer, he turned away from Draco's startled expression and dashed up the stairs two at a time. With a few flicks of his wand, everything was perfect. Too lazy—and too naked—to return downstairs, he sent his Patronus. He heard Draco's laughter and imagined him shaking his head. Next thing he knew, there were footsteps on the stairs. Hastily he lay down on the bed.

Draco entered the room, and his eyes widened as he took everything in. There were floating candles all around the room, and everything was laid out—including Harry himself, who had arranged himself artfully on the bed and was now stroking himself for Draco's benefit.

"You have no idea what that does to me," Draco said, his voice low.

"Why don't you show me then?"

"Gladly."

Slowly, maddeningly, Draco removed his own clothes one piece at a time, beginning with his shoes and socks. He carefully folded each item and placed it on a chair, drawing it out as long as he could. He kept his eyes on Harry the whole time, periodically running his tongue along his lips and humming a little at Harry's whimpering groans. He smirked when Harry had to let go of himself so he wouldn't come from wanking whilst watching the show.

At last, fully undressed, Draco lay down on the bed beside Harry. He reached for him, But Harry swiftly rolled them both so he had Draco pinned under him. He put out his tongue and ran it down Draco's cheek, along his collarbone, and over his stomach. He paused to lap at each nipple, licking and sucking and revelling in the deep, breathy moans escaping Draco's lips. He continued his path, twirling his tongue in Draco's navel and making him squirm from the tickling.

He bypassed Draco's cock entirely, instead pushing his legs farther apart and kissing his inner thigh. He nipped lightly at the skin there and soothed each bite with his lips, moving closer and closer to the center. When he was nearly there, he shifted and began again on the other side. This time, when he reached the top, he moved and settled between Draco's legs. He kissed his balls then sucked one into his mouth.

Draco gasped and his back arched. "Gods, Harry, _please_ ," he begged.

Harry grasped a small phial from the night-stand. He uncorked it, and the sweet, fruity scent rose in the air. Pouring a little out on his palm, Harry applied it to Draco's cock before taking it into his mouth. The taste of strawberries flooded his tongue. He used one hand to stroke below where his mouth was sliding and the other to breech Draco's entrance, moving his lubricated fingers slowly and sensually.

When he felt he had reduced Draco sufficiently to a quivering, needy mass, he withdrew all at once and sat back. Draco whined a little at the loss, but Harry swiftly remedied that by adjusting so he was stretched out atop him. He applied more of the flavored lube to his own cock then moved his hips so their erections brushed lightly. He looked down at Draco, whose eyes were pressed shut, his mouth hanging open.

As slowly as he could manage in his eager state of arousal, Harry pushed inside, waiting at every step for confirmation and approval to continue. Once he was fully sheathed, he paused to catch his breath. Draco opened his eyes, his grey gaze burning with desire.

"Move, damn you," he muttered.

With a groan of anticipation, Harry moved. He gradually increased his pace until he snapped his hips in a brutal rhythm, pounding into Draco over and over and driving them both mad with the sensations. For a moment, the only sounds were their heavy panting and the slap of their skin.

Harry was close. He leaned in and whispered against Draco's lips, "Fuck yourself in your hand."

The filthy words had their intended effect. Draco gave a barely-audible whimper and wrapped a hand around himself, tugging desperately. Their rapid breathing turned to feverish gasps and grunts, rising in volume until both of them let go at once. Harry boiled over deep inside Draco, offering a deep groan with every spurt and stilling his hips just as Draco bucked and splattered them both with his hot release.

Harry peppered Draco's face and neck with breathless kisses, his chest heaving with exertion. Beneath him, Draco still shook with the force of his orgasm, every part of him trembling. It was enough to make Harry shudder with lingering pleasure.

Eventually they separated and cleaned themselves. They lay tangled together, Harry's head pillowed on Draco's chest. Draco carded his fingers through Harry's always-unruly locks. When the gentle touches slowed, Harry knew Draco was on the verge of sleep; it was now or never. He shifted and rolled over to rummage in the drawer beside the bed.

Draco chuckled softly. "I think twice in one night is about it for me, love."

Harry looked back at him. Draco's eyes were closed, and a tiny smile played on his lips. "I wasn't looking for that, you silly man." His fingers closed around the object he wanted and he withdrew it, keeping it hidden. "Sit up for a mo'."

"Why? I'm comfortable."

"Just do it."

With a huff, Draco hauled himself up. He gave Harry a pointed look, to which Harry only replied with a grin.

"I know tonight wasn't the best way for everyone to find out about us, but I was going to talk to you about when and how to tell them anyway, since we agreed to wait until after Rose and Scorpius got married. Do you know, we've been together for over a year now?"

Draco's eyebrows rose. "Has it been that long?"

"It has." Harry cleared his throat. "There's something I want to ask you."

After a pause, Draco said quietly, "All right."

Harry pulled the small box out. Opening it, he said, "Marry me?"

Draco's eyes flicked to the silver and green ring, then back to Harry's. "Yes."

Harry slipped the ring in place, tossed the box aside, and leaned in for a long, tender kiss. When they drew apart, they held each other for a time before they lay back down in the same position they'd been in to start. Harry's eyes slid closed and a contented sigh escaped his lips.

Just as he was drifting off, he heard Draco murmur, "I don't think we should have a wedding, though."

"Why not?" Harry asked sleepily.

"You know how I am at weddings."

_**Fin** _


End file.
